


Killer for Hire

by ohthislove



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Violence, Canon Related, Dani Powell has a girlfriend, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Jealousy, Language, Malcolm Bright is Bisexual, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Slow Burn, Stalking, Yandere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 50,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23897152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohthislove/pseuds/ohthislove
Summary: A dead stockbroker leads Malcolm to a highly trained assassin known only as Siren. She’s unlike any other murderer he’s gone after before; she’s confusing, impossible to track down, and frustratingly irresistible. What starts out as an innocent attempt to investigate her quickly escalates into a dangerous infatuation, and the closer he gets to her, the more he puts himself and those he loves in harm’s way.
Relationships: Eve Blanchard/Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, JT Tarmel/Tally Tarmel, Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright & Edrisa Tanaka, Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel, Malcolm Bright & Jessica Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Sunshine the Bird, Malcolm Bright/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 86





	1. Thrill of the Kill

**Author's Note:**

> This is heavily Killing Eve inspired. Also, it doesn’t really take place any time in canon, it’s more canon-adjacent. Enjoy!

“He likes the bed made first thing in the morning and the pillows on the couch fluffed. You can take your lunch break at noon, and Rosa will take over at five.” The woman in the pantsuit folded her hands in front of her. “All you have to do is stay out of his way and do whatever he says. Sound good?”

She nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

A smile spread on the woman’s face from being addressed with authority. The elevator doors slid open with a ding, and she followed the woman down a long hallway that lead to a door. She dug around in her purse for a ring of keys and inserted one of them into the lock. She twisted it and pushed the door open with ease.

The sound of the woman’s heels clicking against the wooden floor as she took big strides echoed in the large penthouse. Everything was ornately decorated in gold and leather and marble and leopard skin. It was quite tacky, like the person who lived here had a lot of money but no taste to know how to spend it, so he modeled it after pictures he had seen in magazines and movie sets.

Footsteps on the spiral staircase drew her attention upwards. “Sylvia, is that you? Where have you been?” A man with a dark head of hair and a fake tan descended, clad in only a silk robe that was tied loosely around his waist to expose a dusting of hair on his chest.

“I apologize for being late. I was just filling the new maid in.” The woman gestured to her with a wide sweep of her arm. “Mr. Phillips, this is Sarah Brown.”

Sarah Brown was one of her favorite characters to play: meek, soft-spoken, polite, a small town girl who was shyer than a dormouse. All the things she was not. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.” She bowed her head with a slight tilt of her chin.

He landed in front of her and looked away from the Rolex he was fiddling with on his wrist to give her a once over. His gaze was dark as it skimmed over her from head to toe, and he licked his lips. “It’s very nice to meet you too.” He shifted his attention to the woman at her side. “Sylvia, go to the office. I have a client who’s supposed to call soon.”

“Yes, Mr. Phillips.” She spun around without a moment of hesitation, the click of her heels receding as she left.

He settled his borderline lecherous gaze on her once more. “Go upstairs and run me a bath. I’ll be there in a moment. I have to take care of a couple of things first.”

She gave a curt nod. “Yes, sir.”

He grinned, revealing two rows of bleached white teeth. “I trust you enough to find your way around.”

She felt a light pat on her ass as he passed her. She didn’t react, opting instead to head for the staircase with a blank and unreadable expression. She ran one hand along the banister as she climbed the steps to the second floor. It took her searching through four bedrooms, two studies, and a massive walk-in closet to find the door to the bathroom. She padded across the tile floor in her slippers to the full length mirror, examining her reflection.

She adjusted the chestnut brown wig on her head so the hairline laid flat. She picked at the ill fitting uniform she was wearing, the tag tickling the back of her neck irritating her skin. It was too loose in the middle and tight in the armpits. The sickly gray get up had been the previous maid’s and given to her due to the short notice. It was so unflattering, not even she could manage to pull it off.

She walked over to the clawfoot bathtub in the middle of the room overlooking a view of the Manhattan skyline. Anyone else might’ve found it breathtaking, but she was too preoccupied to take the time to appreciate it. She kneeled beside the tub and leaned over to plug the drain. She cranked the handle on the faucet as far as it could go, and a rumble filled her ears as water splashed the bottom of the tub. She held a hand under the stream and watched the piping hot water scald her skin. She kept it there until the water felt so hot it was cold, and her hand was glowing an angry red color when she finally pulled it away.

She went to retrieve a towel from the linen closet, and when she came back, the door flew open as Mr. Phillips entered. He perked up at the sight of the full tub, curls of steam drifting off of the surface. “Good to know you can follow orders.”

She set the towel down next to the sink as he dipped his hand in the water, sending ripples across the surface. He retracted it with a yelp. “This water is way too hot.” He fixed her with a stare she assumed he meant to be intimidating. “Next time, don’t make it so fucking hot, okay?”

She merely batted her doe eyes at him. “Yes, sir.”

He faced the tub, his hands gripping the belt slung low on his hips. She snuck up behind him, and before he could rid himself of the robe, kicked him in the knees. He fell forward, his ribs colliding with the lip of the tub and knocking the wind out of him. Before he could react, she pinned him down with a knee in the middle of his back. She grabbed his head with both hands pushed his face into the water.

He floundered, hands blindly fumbling for the lip of the tub to push himself up. To his credit, he was decently strong, but his air supply was already beginning to run out, so all the strength he had left was diverted to holding his breath. He thrashed, sending splashes over the side of the tub. She held firm and watched as he coughed and sputtered. His movements began to slow, and she could imagine the panic that gripped him as his lungs filled with water and fuzzy dots formed over his vision. He went limp underneath her with a final gurgle, a cluster of bubbles rising to the surface and popping in a burst of droplets.

She got off of him, tilting her head as she stared down at him. His upper body was left hanging over the porcelain tub, his head underwater. The faucet was still running, and the water overflowed, forming puddles on the floor that sank into the grout lines between the tiles. She leaned over him and picked up his arm, slipping the watch off of his wrist. She lifted it close to her face and admired the diamond encrusted case before dropping it into her pocket. Adrenaline thrummed in her veins as she wiped her hands on her apron. She turned and walked away, the soles of her slippers soaked through with bath water.

Now, she could finally take this damn uniform off.


	2. Promises that Can’t Be Kept

Malcolm got the call halfway through brunch with his mom and Ainsley.

He was absentmindedly listening to his mom rant about some illicit affair she had heard rumors about at one of her New York socialite soirées when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. She abruptly paused in the middle of her sentence, and both she and Ainsley looked over at him. He fumbled for his phone and dug it out of his pocket. Glancing at the screen, the caller ID read ‘Gil’ accompanied by an old picture of him he had set as his contact photo.

He looked up at them. “Sorry. It’s Gil.”

His mom sighed. “No doubt calling about another murder.”

“Do you mind if I take this?” he asked, although he was already rising from his seat.

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “By all means, go ahead.”

With that, the legs of his chair screeched against the wooden floor as he pushed it back. He weaved his way through the tables and exited through the glass doors of the establishment. The slight chill of the autumn air was a welcome change to the stuffy atmosphere of the restaurant, and the second his dress shoes met the sidewalk, he hit accept and held his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Malcolm,” Gil greeted him in his usual gruff tone, “there’s been a homicide, and we want your input on the matter.”

His chest filled with a peculiar light and airy feeling, the way it always did when Gil had a job for him. “What’s the address?”

“On the corner of sixty-first and second. Do you think you can make it?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” he stated bluntly before hanging up. He rushed back inside and made his way over to the table where his mom and Ainsley were looking at him expectantly. “I have to go. There’s been a homicide, and they need me there.”

“Well, you know what they say: the city never sleeps, and apparently, neither does crime,” his mom said with an elegant roll of her eyes.

“I’m sorry. Rain check?” He grabbed his coat from where it was slung over the back of his chair and pulled it on hurriedly. “We’ll pick up where we left off another time.”

She pressed her lips together in a thin, straight line, clearly not pleased. “I suppose,” she conceded in a lilted voice.

He gave her a smile. “Thank you.” He rounded the table and placed his hand on the back of her chair as he leaned over to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. It seemed to ease a little bit of the disappointment that had settled in her features. He stood up and looked across the table at his sister. “Bye, Ainsley.”

“Stay out of trouble,” she warned him.

He tugged on the lapels of his wool coat. “No promises.” He flashed them a final smile before walking away.

He tipped the cab driver extra to push the speed limit. Lucky for him, morning rush hour traffic had just ended, and the streets were relatively empty (well, as empty as the streets of New York could possibly get). The cab pulled over to the curb of a sleek, modern apartment building. It was so tall, he couldn’t see the top floor even as he bent to look out the window.

He paid the driver before climbing out of the cab, slamming the door behind him with a resounding bang. Gil was waiting for him at the entrance to the building, his hands in his pockets. “That was fast,” he remarked once he was within earshot.

He outstretched his arms as he approached. “I said I’d make it here in fifteen, didn’t I?”

He tapped the glass of the bulky watch on his wrist. “More like twelve.” He turned around and headed for the lobby, gesturing over his shoulder for Malcolm to follow. “Let’s go inside.”

The slap of his soles against the polished floors echoed inside the spacious lobby. The elevator was roped off with caution tape, and Gil had to flash his badge in order to cross it. “He’s with me.” He jabbed a thumb at Malcolm over his shoulder, and they let him go too. A couple of disgruntled residents were being held off by NYPD police officers, arguing with them in fervent tones.

They got into the elevator, and Gil hit the button for the highest floor. It started with a jolt that had Malcolm clutching the railing. They rode up in silence, his eyes glued to the digital numbers above the door that ticked higher as they climbed further up.

The elevator dinged, and the metal doors parted to reveal Dani and JT on the other side. Dani looked happy to see him, whereas JT appeared to be quite the opposite. “I didn’t know Daddy Issues was joining us today,” he grumbled.

He stepped out of the elevator, lips curling into a smile. “Good one.” He clasped his hands together in front of him as he looked at the three detectives. “So, who’s the deceased?”

Gil started for the penthouse, passing several more strips of yellow tape, and the others were quick to follow him. “His name is Benjamin Phillips,” he explained as he lead them to the second level. Police officers were strewn about, flitting back and forth carrying sealed plastic evidence bags. “He’s a stockbroker for a prominent firm on Wall Street, Bingman Williams. His assistant found him drowned in the bathtub this morning.”

They were just about to step inside the bathroom when Malcolm outstretched his arm, stopping them in their tracks. “Wait!” he exclaimed. He squatted down to closely examine a trail of watery footprints on the tiled floor. “Footprints.” They lead away from the bathtub and continued across the carpet underneath their feet. “About a size six.” He looked up to see a police officer taking pictures of the crime scene. “You!” He pointed at her, and she looked over at him with wide eyes. “Take pictures of these.”

She came over to where they were and started snapping photos, the flash nearly blinding him each time the shutters closed. He stood up, and all four of them moved further into the room, being careful to step over the potentially incriminating evidence. He pursed his lips and let out one long whistle when his eyes landed on the bathtub in the middle of the room. There was a man slumped over the edge of the tub, his head dunked under the water. The tub was still full, and although the faucet was off now, water pooled around the clawed feet and the man’s motionless legs.

Malcolm stopped at the man’s side, grimacing when water seeped into the soles of his dress shoes. “Any chance it could’ve been a suicide?”

“I considered that at first, but there’s a bruise in the middle of his back and tufts of his hair missing.” Edrisa stood on the other side of the man and beamed at him. “Hi, Malcolm. It’s good to see you again.”

He smiled back. “You too, Edrisa.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the body. “Time of death?”

“Approximately two and a half hours ago, around eight-fifteen. Usually, he’d be blue by now, but the fake tan makes it look like he could stand up at any second.” She laughed at her own joke to blank expressions from the group. She tapped her pen against the clipboard in her hand, regathering her composure. “There was a struggle, but not much of one. It was pretty short-lived.”

“No sign of a forced entry,” Dani pointed out behind him.

“So whoever the killer was, they must’ve been able to get close.” He scratched his chin. “They took him by surprise. He didn’t see it coming.”

“The killer has to have been someone he knew then, right?” JT suggested.

“It appears that way, but I‘m not so sure.” Malcolm shook his head slowly.

JT raised a bushy brow at him. “Well, you’re the profiler, are you not? Show off a little,” he encouraged.

Malcolm gathered his thoughts before rounding the side of the tub. “Drowning is considered one of the most painful ways to die. It’s a slow death. It can take someone up to six minutes to die, and the whole time, you can feel the water filling your lungs,” he described to unsavory reactions from the group. “It’s a common method used in crimes of passion and people who want to air out their personal grievances. What’s interesting about this murder is the attention to detail.” He circled the bathtub, drinking in every minute thing about the scene in front of him. “Whoever did this knew what they were doing. They were careful not to leave any traces. It’s admirable, really...”

He trailed off and looked at Gil, Dani, and JT to see them staring at him with evident concern. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, we’re looking for a killer who’s detached but has a flair for the dramatic. She’s immaculate, but enjoys the thrill of killing.”

Dani quirked a brow. “She?”

He shrugged. “It’s just a feeling.”

“What makes you think the killer is female?” Gil spoke up.

He gesticulated passionately as he explained, “She’s clinical and cautious, but twisted. She’s far more calculating than your average joe committing a murder.” He paused. “That and the footprints.” He turned to Gil. “Has anyone had a chance to speak to the assistant who found him?”

“She’s out in the hall.” Gil took Malcolm, Dani, and JT back out into the hall where they spotted a woman with auburn hair slicked back into a bun leaning against the wall and being consoled by two officers. She looked up when the detectives approached, tear tracks tainted with mascara leaving streaks down her pale cheeks.

Malcolm stepped forward to introduce himself. “My name is Malcolm Bright. I’m a consultant for the NYPD.” He extended a hand to her.

She shook it, her grip weak and faltering. “Sylvia, Mr. Phillips’s assistant.”

He retracted his hand and stuffed it in his pocket. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” She shook her head with a sniffle. “Great. Can you tell me about the events leading up to finding Mr. Phillips’s body?”

“I-I was in the office downstairs. He got off the phone with a client and said he was going to go take a bath. I was filing some paperwork when I thought he had been gone for a while, so I went up to check on him, and...” Her voice cracked, and she choked back a sob.

He pulled out his handkerchief and offered it to her. She quietly thanked him as she took it from him, dabbing at her cheeks to no avail. “Was there anything unusual or out of the ordinary this morning?”

She shook her head eagerly. “No, it was just like any other day. I never could’ve imagined that something like this would happen.” She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

He nodded understandingly. “Was there anyone else in the residence besides you and Mr. Phillips?”

She pursed her lips in thought. “Only the new maid. Last I saw of her, she went to go draw him a bath, and then she just disappeared.”

He furrowed his brow. “What happened to the last maid?”

“She got into a terrible accident and had to be hospitalized. I was lucky to find a new one on such short notice. Today was her first day.” Her eyes widened. “Wait... you don’t think she...” She covered her mouth with her hand.

He exchanged a knowing look with the detectives. “Sylvia, do you think you could give us any information you have on this maid?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered immediately, swatting away a stray teardrop.

“Thank you for your cooperation with the investigation. I promise we will do everything we can to track down the person who did this.” He hoped his words were able to ease her worries even just a little bit.

He walked away to reconvene with the others. “So the maid is our best bet?” JT assumed.

“She’s certainly our strongest lead so far,” Gil agreed, “but until we get her identification, we might as well start putting together a list of possible suspects. Otherwise, I think our work here is done.”

“We’ll get right on that,” JT said as they moved towards the elevator. “Anyone want a ride back to the station?”

Malcolm raised his hand with a smile. “I could use a lift.”

JT scowled at him. “Fine, but you’re sitting in the back.”


	3. One of These Things is Not Like the Others

Out of all of the places she’s visited — from Milan to Monte Carlo to Saint Tropez — New York had to be the worst one she’s ever been to.

The concrete jungle was all towering skyscrapers that blocked out the view of the smog-tainted sky, bright yellow taxi cabs bumper to bumper gridlocking the streets, and people with poor manners rushing around like they were the most important people in the world, dressed in ugly suits or baggy, thrift store finds smelling of the subway and cigarettes. It was awful.

Her only saving grace was that she had found a quaint, little coffee shop (appropriately named Safe Haven) on the Upper East Side a couple of blocks away from the apartment she was staying at. It was a well-hidden secret that reminded her of the ivy-covered, Mom-and-Pop cafe she used to visit regularly in Paris. The scent of lilac and jasmine perfume invaded her senses the second she walked in the door, and the regulars were all high class and sophisticated, the type of people she would allow to associate with her.

Except for today. No, on today of all days, a single mom had finally scraped enough pocket change and earnings from her dead-end job together to take her three young children out to a nice lunch, one of which she was currently trying to placate with a SpongeBob popsicle she had bought from an ice cream cart outside.

She tapped her manicured nails against the surface of the table impatiently, trying to block out the sound of the crying child all the way on the other side of the coffee shop. She looked up hopefully when the bell over the door rang as it flew open and smiled when a middle-aged woman in a long coat made out of Chinchilla fur entered.

She lifted an arm and waved her over. “Yoo-hoo! Over here!” she called.

The woman spotted her and made her way over. She pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, shrugging off her coat and hanging it over the back of the chair. “This is an interesting place you’ve chosen to meet,” she remarked in an undeniably English accent, shooting a glare over at the mom and her kids.

“Isn’t it cute?” she gushed. “Discreet and private, just like you wanted.” She cut a section of her coffee cake with the side of her fork and looked at her expectantly. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go ahead and order.”

“No need.” She shifted to cross one leg over the other. “This is strictly business.”

“Please, Aitch. It’s my treat.” She gave her a sickly sweet smile.

Aitch pulled her lips taut into a thin, straight line. “A coffee. Black.”

Her smile grew. “Coming right up.”

She rose from her seat, the wrought iron legs of her chair scratching against the polished floors. Her high-heeled boots clicked on her way over to the counter. She gave the order exactly as Aitch had said it and paid the correct amount, ignoring the flirtatious glances the barista was sending her. She returned with a steaming mug of dark brown liquid and set it down on the table in front of Aitch.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Please, it’s my pleasure.” She reclaimed her seat. “You know, I feel like, most of the time, handlers don’t get the appreciation they deserve. Sure, assassins do all the nitty gritty stuff, but we wouldn’t be able to do what we do without people like you.”

From the expression on the woman’s wrinkled face, she wasn’t amused. “Cut the bullshit, Siren.”

She pressed a hand to her chest in mock offense and rounded her scarlet-painted lips. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I transferred the other half of the payment to your account this morning.”

Siren let out a breath and dropped the cheery facade. “Thank God. My cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so much.”

“I assume the hit was carried out smoothly?” She arched an overly plucked eyebrow.

She took a sip of her earl gray tea. “Without a hitch as planned. Plus, look what I got!” She took the watch out of her purse and dangled it in front of her. Aitch’s eyes went wide. “Well, it’ll look better once I get it fitted.” She slid it onto her thin wrist and shook the loose watch back and forth.

“You’re not supposed to be taking souvenirs from targets!” she hissed.

She scoffed. “Calm down. No one will even know it’s missing.” She dropped the watch back in her purse. “I was very thorough.”

Aitch cupped her mug of coffee with both hands. “Really, Siren? Drowning?” She fixed her with a disapproving stare. “Why do I even bother buying you all those fancy weapons when you never use any of them?”

She set down her cup of tea with a clink, red lipstick now staining the lip of the cup. “You tell me who to kill, and I kill them. You never tell me how.” She smiled cheekily. “Besides, you know I like to get creative and improvise.”

“Improvising is how mistakes are made,” she reminded her. Siren had heard her say it so many times, she was starting to sound like a broken record. “What if you had failed and he had gotten away, huh? What then?”

“My targets never get away.” There was a deadly edge to her tone. She traced the rim of her cup with the pad of her finger. “I’ve never once had a failed mission. Can you say that about any of the other assassins you've worked with?”

Aitch remained silent. The lines of her face creased into their default setting: unimpressed and bored. But Siren could make out the slightest clench of her jaw that told her she was right. _Thought so._

She leaned her elbows on the table and stared the woman dead in the face. “Now, is there any other reason why you called this meeting, or did you just want to scold me?”

The handler sighed and pulled a manila folder out of her oversized purse. She dropped it onto the table unceremoniously. Siren quirked a brow. “Another hit? Already?” She smirked. “I heard New Yorkers were mean, but this is unexpected.”

“I thought you would want to know who you’re going to be up against this time.” She slid the folder across the table to her.

Siren caught it, furrowing her brows. She flipped it open and scanned over the unnecessarily heavy stack of photos and documents. It was the usual suspects: cocky detectives who were overly confident and all too easy to evade. She glossed over the names Gil Arroyo, Dani Powell, and JT Tarmel before her hand hovered over a photo that stood out from the rest.

“Who’s this?”

She gripped in both hands a portrait of a man seven or eight years her senior. He was dressed in a tailored suit, and his brown hair was slicked back. He wasn’t smiling. His plump, pink lips were contorted into a pout, and there was a hint of scruff along his angled jaw. His bright blue eyes gazed straight into the camera with a haunted look, like he could see past the lens and straight into her soul.

“Malcolm Bright, although his real last name is Whitly,” she launched into his biography. “He’s the son of Martin Whitly, the notorious serial killer known as The Surgeon. He called the cops on him when he was eight years old.”

“No shit. Talk about a troubled childhood.” She laughed. She remembered hearing about The Surgeon, mostly on the anniversaries of his killings, and she admired his work, even if it was a little cliche. “It takes some balls to turn your dad in as a kid. But really, who came up with The Surgeon? What were the other choices? The Scalpel Slaughterer?”

“Says the girl who calls herself Siren.” Aitch rolled her eyes.

“You’re one to talk, _Aitch_.” She put extra emphasis on the last word before turning her attention back to the man in question. “He doesn’t look like a detective.”

“He’s not. He’s a profiler. He graduated from Harvard, went to Quantico, and worked with the FBI for a while tracking down killers like his dad before he was fired for insubordination and antagonizing his colleagues. Now, he’s a consultant for the New York Police Department.”

“Very well-dressed for a consultant, isn’t he?” She flipped the photo around to show her the Armani suit he was wearing. She would recognize the brand anywhere.

“He comes from old money. His mom is loaded.” Aitch sipped from her mug. “His sister Ainsley is an anchorwoman for Direct News Nation.”

She nodded in recognition. She remembered seeing a stern, bitter-faced blonde of the same name sitting behind a desk while she flipped through channels on the TV. “Well, I love a man with good taste.” She set the photo back down on top of the stack.

Aitch gave her a look. “Siren, he’s going to be investigating you for murder. It would be in your best interest to keep as much distance between you and him as possible.”

She stared down at the picture again. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. As dangerous as her profession was, she never really had to deal with the police before. They were easy to fool and overlooked the details. But there was something intriguing about him — whether it be the look on his face or his tragic backstory (although the fact that he was easy on the eyes didn’t hurt) — that made part of her hope he would catch on and run into her. She was curious about what he would look like in action. He wouldn’t be as easily forgotten as the others.

“Well, you know I’m always keen to take your advice,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Aitch snapped the folder closed and started to slide it back towards her when Siren placed her hand on top of hers. “Wait!” she interjected a little too loudly. Aitch stared at her, confused, and she smiled. “I think I better hang on to this. You know, just in case.”

“Make sure you never have to look at it again.” She leaned back in her chair, drinking her coffee.

Siren stood up, tucking the folder in her designer purse before slinging it over her shoulder. “It wasn’t all an act, you know.” She leaned one hand on the table. “I really am grateful for all that you do for me.”

Aitch crossed her arms over her chest, her face as hard as stone. “Siren, you’re an insufferable, self-centered bitch who has a tendency to disregard the rules. You’re lucky you’re good at your job or you would’ve been fired if not killed a long time ago.”

She merely grinned. “Well, honesty is the best policy, I always say.” She blew the older woman an air kiss. “Kisses!”

She slid her tortoiseshell sunglasses over her eyes and pulled her black, fur coat tighter around her figure as she walked away. On her way out, she passed the mom and her kids, one of which was still throwing a tantrum that was causing her a migraine. She skidded to a halt by the table, and the child blinked up at her with teary eyes, drool dribbling onto its pink chin. She bent over and plucked the untouched popsicle out of its hand. It began to wail again, and she could hear the mom shouting after her as she left. She licked a long stripe up the popsicle and massaged her temple with her free hand. _Next time, take the kid outside._


	4. Beginner’s Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm doesn’t know how to play pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Violent Delights war flashbacks while writing this.

“You really didn’t have to invite me out with you and your wife,” Malcolm told JT as he stared up at the blinking, red neon sign that read Amsterdam Billiards & Bar. “Honestly, you really shouldn’t have.”

“Trust me, I didn’t want to.” JT held the heavy wooden door open for his wife. He stepped inside and was about to let it close when Malcolm’s hand shot out, holding it open. “But when Gil heard about my plans for the weekend, he insisted I drag you along. Apparently, he thinks you need to get out of the house more.”

“Who would’ve thought?” He straightened his tie as he followed JT and Tally through the dusky interior of the bar. He was terribly overdressed for the occasion and stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the throng of patrons wearing sweatshirts and denim jeans.

He, JT, and Tally stopped at a free pool table. JT and Tally immediately grabbed two pool cues hanging on the wall and positioned themselves on either side of the table. “Tally and I will play first, and then the winner goes up against Bright,” JT said.

“Oh, no.” Malcolm shook his head. “I don’t mind just watching.”

“What’s wrong? Afraid you might not be the best in the room for once?” JT taunted, drawing out a titter of laughter from Tally.

He leaned back against the brick wall and smirked. “Well, we’ll see if you can beat Tally first.”

JT raised his brows. “Oh, it’s on, rich boy.”

He watched JT and Tally begin to play, but his mind couldn’t stay present in the moment. His thoughts kept flitting to the dubious nature of Benjamin Phillips’s murder, of how usually, he was able to pinpoint the killer’s disposition and motive in a second flat, but with this one, he was truly stumped. Whoever had killed him was an expert at their craft.

He rounded the table to where JT was bent over, cue poised to sink a ball into one of the pockets. “What do you think of the murder being pinned on the maid?”

JT went to make the shot, but at the sound of Malcolm’s voice, his hand slipped. The cue pushed the cue ball so it knocked into the other one, but it went rolling lazily to the side rather than into the pocket as planned. JT stood up straight, his brows creased with frustration, but let out a prolonged breath. “Can we please not talk about workplace stuff right now?”

“I know, I know.” He raised his hands in defeat. “But do you think she’s connected to the victim somehow? Or do you think it was a set up? Maybe someone else was able to sneak into the penthouse without their knowledge and—”

JT whirled around to face him and cut off his rambling by clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go get yourself a drink? Loosen up a little.” He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. “I’ll even pay for it.”

“That’s not necessary,” he insisted. “I’ll go get it myself. You guys want anything?” He looked back and forth between the couple.

“No, we’re good.” Tally smiled at him. “Thanks for the offer though.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” The last thing he saw was JT’s relieved expression he was leaving before spinning on his heel and walking away. He was halfway to the bar on the other side of the room when he spotted something that made his heart skip a beat in his chest.

A woman a little younger than him was leaning over a pool table by her lonesome. In the dim light of the bar, she seemed to emanate her own luminescent glow. She had long, black hair that cascaded down her back in glossy waves and complimented her smooth, pale skin. She looked out of place in her tight, black dress that hugged her curvy figure and ended just above her knees, but she didn’t seem to notice. In fact, she appeared to be completely at ease as if she belonged there. She looked like an old Hollywood movie star that had stepped right out of the silver screen with her delicate, fine features. From the looks on the faces of the men around her circling her like vultures, he wasn’t the only one that had noticed her inherent beauty, but they seemed to be too scared to approach her.

She angled the pool cue in her hands at the cue ball, narrowing her catlike eyes in concentration. She gave it a few experimental thrusts before hitting the cue ball with it. The ball went hurtling towards the others, and the air filled with the sound of the balls clacking against each other. The four remaining balls rolled across the table and landed into the pockets so only the cue ball and eight ball were left in the middle.

“Woah,” he commented from behind her, “that was quite the shot.”

She flipped her hair as she looked over her shoulder at him, her gray eyes drinking in his appearance. She stood up straight and turned around, leaning back against the pool table. He waited for her to tell him off or spurn him for hitting on her or give him the cold shoulder, but she merely smirked. “If you think that’s impressive, you should see what I can do with something more deadly.”

He chuckled lightly. “Do you play a lot?”

She chalked the tip of the pool cue. “Not really.”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. “You must be a natural, then.”

“I guess so.” Her voice was low and smooth and sultry, though there was something off about it that he couldn’t put his finger on. “What about you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t really play.”

She arched a brow. “You don’t play or you don’t know how?”

He smiled sheepishly at her. “Both?”

She set the chalk down on the edge of the pool table. “Come here.” She held out the cue to him. “Take this.”

“Okay...” He took it from her, his fingers brushing against hers as he did so which sent shivers down his spine.

He moved closer to the table, and she maneuvered behind him. “Bend over.” She placed her hand on his shoulder and pushed him down. He did as she said. “Hold it like this.” She lifted his right arm that held the cue and bent it. She moved his other arm to stretch across the table. “Now aim...” She positioned the tip of the cue at the cue ball. She wrapped her arms around him to hold the cue steady. She was so close to him, the scent of her expensive perfume invaded his senses and he could feel the natural warmth she was emitting as her chest pressed flush against his back. “And fire!”

She moved her hand curled around his so the tip hit the cue ball. It bumped into the eight ball at an inhuman speed, sending it flying into the upper right hand corner pocket. “Not bad.” She relinquished him from her grip, and he found himself silently mourning the loss of contact. “Though it might just be beginner’s luck.”

“You’re a good teacher.” He stood up straight. “You give lessons?”

“Only to those I deem worthy of my time.” She extended a hand out to him. “The name’s Vixen, by the way.”

He shook her hand. It was cold in comparison to his warm palm, but he didn’t mind. “Vixen,” he repeated.

“A little unorthodox, I know, but it’s what everybody calls me.” Her hand lingered on his before she retracted it. “And your name is...”

He blinked. “Malcolm Bright.” He was so flustered, he almost went to reach for her hand again. “And I like Vixen. It’s a nice name.”

“And fitting, isn’t it?” She winked one gray eye at him.

He felt heat creep up his cheeks. He cleared his throat before asking, “Are you playing by yourself?”

“If you’re trying to ask if I’m here with anyone, the answer to your question is no.” She stared at him through half lidded eyes. “I’m all alone.”

The look on her face was so breathtaking, it took him a moment to find his voice. “In that case, I was just going over to the bar to get a drink.” He pointed at aforementioned bar on the other side of the room. “Can I get you something?”

She rose to her full height. She was taller than him by a couple of inches, though that might’ve just been because of the heels she had on. “I’ll go with you. No sense in hogging the pool table when we’re not gonna use it, is there?”

She walked ahead of him, a sway in her hips, and he scrambled to put the cue back in its place on the wall before catching up with her. Her slim figure sauntered across the room like a panther, though he could tell by the way she held herself that she had concealed strength in her lithe limbs.

“Are you from around here?” he asked her, raising his voice slightly so his words wouldn’t be drowned out by the loud music blaring from the speakers.

She shook her head. “No. I’m new in town, actually.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, really? Where are you from?”

She smiled, like she had thought of something funny or remembered a secret only she knew about. “Somewhere far, far away.”

She slid onto a stool at the bar, and he took the seat next to her. The second the bartender’s eyes landed on her, he set down the glass he was cleaning and rushed over to her like a dog that had seen its master. “What can I get for you, miss?”

“I’ll take a martini,” she said before looking over at Malcolm expectantly.

“I’ll just have a beer, please.” He flashed him a polite smile.

The bartender rested an elbow on the counter. “Bottle or tap?”

“Whatever you have on tap is fine.”

“Coming right up.” He threw his rag over his shoulder and walked away to go fix their drinks.

Malcolm turned his attention back to her. “So, what brought you to New York?”

She gave him an award-winning smile. “I wanna be an actress.”

“Well, you came to the right place.” He laughed.

The bartender returned with their drinks, sliding them across the counter. Malcolm caught his before it could tumble into his lap. He lifted it to his lips and drank the fizzy, amber liquid, though he mostly just got a mouthful of foam. He set it down, and when he pried his hand away from the glass, his handprint was left in the condensation.

“Enough about me. I wanna hear about you.” She propped her chin on her hand. “Tell me, what does Malcolm Bright do for a living?”

He squirmed under the heavy weight of her gaze. “I’m a profiler. I work for the NYPD.”

“Ooh.” She picked up her martini glass and held it by the stem, swirling its contents around. He watched the green olive bob up and down like a buoy in the clear liquid. “I bet you work on a lot of gruesome, high profile cases, huh?”

“Well, it’s not as glamorous as it seems on TV.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Crime shows tend to oversimplify the process.”

“Are there any new, exciting investigations you’re working on that you can tell me about?” She batted her long, curved lashes at him.

“Um, we’re not really supposed to talk about what goes on to anyone outside of work. It’s confidential.”

She scooted forward on her stool until her thigh brushed against his. “Well, I’m not just anyone, am I?” And, God, she wasn’t. She was sexy and mysterious and witty and a smidge too confident, all the traits that, when combined, added up to his kryptonite. “Come on, any juicy details you can spare?”

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip. It would be nice to talk to somebody about work, even for just a little bit. She seemed to be the only one who was eager to hear about it nowadays. “All I will say is that the one I’m working on right now is a doozy.”

“A doozy,” she repeated. Her gray eyes glistened with something he couldn’t quite place, and he realized she was the only person he hadn’t subconsciously psychoanalyzed since he had graduated from Harvard, which he wasn’t sure if he should find that scary or intriguing. “Any chance I’ll read about it in the papers anytime soon?”

He shrugged. “Possibly.”

“Well, I won’t get too invested. I’d hate to be disappointed.” She brushed her bangs out of her face. “People with high expectations often stoop to revenge when they’re let down.”

He got lost in the silver of her eyes. She was unlike anyone he had ever met before. _A little too good to be true,_ the nagging, paranoid skeptic in the back of his head voiced, but the alcohol on an empty stomach helped to muffle it. “Can I ask you something?”

She plucked the olive out of her glass and popped it into her mouth. “I’m an open book.”

His cheeks flushed. “I didn’t expect to meet a girl like you tonight, and I’d be kicking myself if I got home later and forgot to ask for your number.”

“I’ll do you one better.” She hopped off of her stool and came closer to him until she was in his space once more. “Come home with me.”

His eyes went wide, and a bout of awkward laughter escaped his lips. “I’m not usually the one night stand type of guy.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” She winked at him.

He was getting drunk off of her presence, and she was standing so close that if he just leaned in a little bit, his lips would touch her raspberry-colored ones. From the look on her face, she was aware of the effect she had on him and was enjoying her newfound power. His inhibitions were lowered enough that without a second thought, he stuttered out, “Yeah, yeah, okay.” Then, his foggy mind cleared enough that he remembered, “Just let me go tell my friends that I’m leaving, and then I’ll be right back.”

She cupped his face in her hands and leaned forward. His heartbeat sped up in his chest until she pressed a searing kiss to his cheek. She pulled away and admired her handiwork. No doubt, there was a bright red lipstick stain standing out on his skin like a brand. Her cupid’s bow lips quirked up into a smirk. “I’ll be waiting.”

He felt like he had just been singed. All he could do was nod.

His cheek burned all the way back to JT and Tally’s table. He felt dizzy and light on his feet, like he was floating on air as he moved across the room. Tally and JT were standing idly around, guzzling from the necks of their beer bottles and tapping their nails against the pool cues in their hands. Their small talk ceased, and their heads snapped to look at him as he stumbled over, a goofy, lopsided grin on his face.

“Bright, where have you been?” Evident concern was etched into the features on JT’s face. “We finished like five minutes ago. It’s you versus Tally.”

“Actually, I’ve got to go.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “I met a girl over at the bar and I’m leaving with her.”

His eyes widened. “I’d say you’re lying, but you’ve got the proof to back it up.” He motioned to his cheek.

Malcolm’s face flushed a shade of red brighter than the lipstick on his skin. He turned to Tally. “I’m sorry. I’ll play you another time?”

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Go have fun.”

He walked away before the blush could spread to his ears. There was a subtle skip in his step as he returned to the bar, but when he got there, the seat where Vixen had been sitting moments ago was now empty. He furrowed his brow.

“Vixen?” he shouted over the usual din of the bar. “Vixen!” He looked around, searching for a head of dark, raven hair, but she was no where to be seen. He noticed the bartender wiping down the counter at the other end and went over to him. “Excuse me,” he slammed his hands down on the counter unintentionally, drawing his attention, “the girl I was with, did you see where she went?”

He looked up at him with a blank stare. “She bolted for the exit.”

He crinkled his forehead in confusion. “Did she happen to mention why?”

He gave a careless shrug of his shoulders. “No clue.”

Malcolm’s shoulders sagged. His luck had turned on its head so quickly. He looked over at her seat. The only evidence she had ever been there to begin with was scarlet red lipstick staining an empty martini glass and a matching mark on his cheek.

The bartender glanced over at the glass and Malcolm’s half drunken beer next to it. He raised a brow. “You gonna pay for that?”


	5. Sweet Serial Killer

Come Monday, Malcolm was still thinking about Vixen.

He was still baffled by the whole situation, and it put a damper on the excitement he should be feeling at getting to further investigate the current case. He tried to conceal his sour mood as he walked into the station that morning, but of course Dani took one look at him and read him like an open book.

“Hey,” she greeted him as she approached. “Is everything okay?”

He faked a confused expression. “What? Yeah, everything’s fine.”

She narrowed her coffee brown eyes at him until they were slits. “Don’t lie to me. I can tell something is up.” Her gaze raked over him. “Does it have something to do with your dad?”

“No, I haven’t seen him in weeks.” He shook his head.

Dani opened her mouth to continue probing him for information, but before she could, JT entered the room. He looked at Malcolm and chuckled. “What’s wrong, Malcolm? Still hung up on the girl from the bar?”

Dani quirked a brow. “What girl?”

“He met a girl when we went out to play pool the other night, and right when they were about to leave together, she bailed.” JT sat on the edge of the table in the middle of the room. “Got him to buy her a drink and everything.”

Malcolm shot daggers at him. “It was not my finest moment, I will admit.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad about getting scammed. It happens to the best of us.” He shrugged his burly shoulders.

“She did not _scam_ me. We had a genuine connection,” he insisted.

“Maybe she just changed her mind,” Dani suggested, and then, added with an edge to her tone, “Women _can_ do that, you know.”

“No, I know, I know, and I wouldn’t have pressured her into anything. I just wish I could’ve at least gotten her number.” He looked down at his feet. He couldn’t believe how one second, she seemed to be in the palm of his hand, and the next, she slipped through his fingers like sand.

“Don’t sweat it. You’ll find someone else.” JT patted him on the back a little too harshly, and he would’ve found it comforting if he didn’t have such an amused expression on his face.

“Where are we at with the case so far?” Gil asked as he entered the room with a flourish, bringing a gust of air in with him.

Malcolm, Dani, and JT disbanded and turned their attention to the front of the room. “I’m still reviewing the profile.” Malcolm walked over to the board. For a normal investigation, it was extremely bare, mainly just photos of the corpse slumped over the full tub from different angles and a couple up closes of the footprints. “The method of the murder directly contradicts the lack of evidence at the crime scene. She was very thorough.”

Dani crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you think she’s killed before?”

“Definitely,” he confirmed. “She’s experienced. She’s developed her own style, her own unique signature. She views her murders as works of art.”

“Sounds like we have a pro on our hands,” JT remarked.

“What about the assistant?” Gil pointed at the photo of Sylvia pinned to the board. “Do you think she could have something to do with it?”

He shook his head. “It’s not likely. She’s too close to the victim for the murder to feel so impersonal. She would’ve made a mistake, and I doubt she would’ve called the cops and stuck around waiting for them to show up. She seemed genuine in her grief when we talked to her. Plus, she was wearing size eight heels, which don’t match with the footprints.” JT, Dani, and Gil gave him concerned looks. “What? I made sure to check while we were talking to her.”

“Then how do you explain the missing watch?” Dani stood beside him and tapped her finger against a photo of the man’s bare wrist where imprints in his skin suggest a watch had once been. “Could it have been a break in gone wrong?”

“I don’t think so. The watch was the only thing reported missing, and a robber would’ve shot him in the head rather than take the time to drown him in the bath. If anything, the watch points to serial killer tendencies. She might’ve taken it as a souvenir of the murder.”

Dani’s eyes went wide. “Are you saying this is the first case of a new serial killer?”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “I’m saying I wouldn’t be surprised if more murders like this started popping up across the city.” He turned back around and stared at the photo in the very center of the board of the man’s torso floating facedown in the water. “She wanted to watch him suffer.” But why go through all the trouble for someone you don’t even know? He rubbed his chin. “It just doesn’t make any sense...”

“I’ve got the information Sylvia sent us about the maid she hired.” Gil broke him out of the trance he was in by holding up a manila folder and flipped through it. “Her name is Sarah Brown. She’s twenty-four years old from a small town in North Carolina. Her social security checks out, and she doesn’t have a wrap sheet. No misdemeanors, no felonies, nothing.”

Malcolm took the folder from him and flipped through it. It was exactly as Gil said. The background check Sylvia ran on her showed that her record was completely clean. _A little too clean,_ if Malcolm was being honest. It was too perfect that it seemed almost manufactured. Her resume held the bare minimum of information it required in order to be hired. She didn’t have a degree or any references from previous places of work. It was just fleshed out enough that an employer like Sylvia wouldn’t bat an eye at it when hiring in a hurry, but under heavy scrutinization, the holes and cracks started to show.

“She doesn’t have any obvious connection to the victim besides working for him,” he commented.

“Well, I don’t think it’s a coincidence Sarah Brown was readily available when one of his maids was hospitalized,” JT theorized.

Malcolm had to agree with him. It was too convenient to not find suspicious. He skimmed through the rest of the folder; there were no pictures of her. There was enough here to go off of in order to track down a Sarah Brown, but if she turned out to be a ghost as he suspected, they were back to square one without being able to put a face to the name. _Unless..._

“The security cameras...” Malcolm looked up from the folder. “An apartment building like Benjamin’s would at least have security cameras in the lobby and in the elevator. If we checked the footage from around the time of the murder, we might be able to see what Sarah looks like.”

“Already one step ahead of you.” Gil started for the open door. “Follow me.”

Malcolm snapped the folder shut and set it down on the table. JT hopped off of the table, and he followed in Gil’s footsteps along with Malcolm and Dani. Gil explained to them as he lead them through the precinct, “I requested the security footage from that morning up until when the NYPD showed up, and I got it this morning.”

He took them to his office and sat down at his computer. Malcolm, Dani, and JT crowded around him, eyes glued to the screen. After logging in, Gil pulled up a video of the stagnant lobby Malcolm had walked through less than a week ago. Gil skipped forward, and people unworthy of note walked back and forth through the lobby at a quickened pace.

“Sylvia and Sarah enter the building at eight o’ clock.” Gil hit play, and a woman sporting an auburn bun and pantsuit who was undoubtedly Sylvia walked towards the elevator alongside a woman with shoulder length, light brown hair wearing a gray maid’s uniform who he assumed was Sarah. He could only see the back of her head as she listened to whatever Sylvia rambled about next to her.

Gil switched to a video of inside the elevator. Malcolm watched as Sylvia and Sarah got in. The camera never got a good view of her face as the elevator ascended. Gil fast forwarded through the footage again, and the pair exited the elevator, leaving it empty. “Then, three minutes after the time of the murder, Sarah comes back out by herself.”

He resumed the video at a normal speed, and the elevator doors slid open. Sarah stepped inside and hit the button for the lobby. The doors closed, and she stood with her back to the camera as the elevator started its journey down. Suddenly, she craned her neck and stared directly into the camera.

Malcolm’s eyes went wide. “Wait! Stop it right there!” he exclaimed. Gil paused the video, and the figure on screen froze. His blood ran cold as he examined her sculpted cheekbones and sharp, angled jawline. He had only seen that face a couple days ago, but he was sure he would be able to recognize those feline, gray eyes anywhere. “Holy shit,” he breathed out.

Everyone tore their gaze away from the screen and focused on him. “What?” Dani asked.

“Bright, what is it?” Gil echoed.

He felt paralyzed as he stared at the curve of the woman’s lips parted into a menacing grin, lips he knew the feel of all too well. “I know her.”


	6. Thin Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the chapters have been short so far. I think they’ll start to get longer further into the story.

“I need an APB on a Sarah Brown. Female, mid twenties, light brown hair, small build,” Gil spoke into his handheld radio as he paced back and forth the length of his office. “Let me know the second you find out anything. Over.”

A crackled, “Yes, sir. Over,” on the radio preceded the silence that followed.

“You won’t find her,” Malcolm spoke up from where he was sitting behind Gil’s desk.

Gil halted in the middle of his pacing and looked over at him. “Why not?”

“Because her name isn’t Sarah Brown.” He pointed to the still image of her still pulled up on the computer screen. “And that isn’t her hair, either. She’s wearing a wig.”

“And you know this how exactly?” Dani asked from her position leaning against the wall.

Malcolm glanced at where JT was standing in a wide stance with his arms crossed before staring straight ahead. “Because I met her the other night at Amsterdam Billiards & Bar,” he said in an even tone.

“No way!” An uncontrollable bout of laughter flowed freely from JT’s lips. “Don’t tell me she’s the girl you almost left with.” Malcolm looked at Gil’s brows furrowed in confusion and the shocked expression on Dani’s face. The clench of his jaw and his slow exhale were the only answer JT needed. “I mean, what are the odds?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t think it was a coincidence,” he said. “I think she was actively seeking me out.”

“You’re giving her more credit than she’s due. You talked all about how smart and clever she is, and yet she slipped up big time. She got caught on camera and she left footprints at the crime scene,” JT reminded him.

“She made those mistakes on purpose because she didn’t care if we found them. She knew we wouldn’t be able to find her anyway,” he retorted.

“Hold on.” Dani stepped forward. “We don’t know she’s the murderer for sure. She’s still just a suspect.”

“Look.” He pointed at the screen, and JT and Dani peered over his shoulder to see what he was talking about. “The bottoms of her shoes are soaked through. And then check this.” He grabbed the mouse and rewinded the video. He pressed pause when Sylvia appeared next to her on the screen again. “Compared to Sylvia, she’s a couple of inches shorter, which would make her around five-seven, so she would wear a size six shoe.” He looked to them for confirmation, and their expressions reflected his thoughts. “She’s our killer.”

Gil settled his hands on his hips. “Bright, before you go any further,” he could see the apologetic look in his eyes, “we have to talk about whether or not you should even be working on this case anymore.”

His heart plummeted to his stomach. “What?”

“You’ve had a personal connection with our lead suspect. We can’t risk your bias jeopardizing the case,” he reasoned.

“I’m not biased! If anything, you need me more than ever right now!” He jumped out of the chair to his feet, sending it rolling backwards to crash into the wall. All eyes were on him as if he had sprouted a second head, and he sucked in a deep, calming breath. “Look, I don’t exactly know how she fits into all this just yet, but I’m the closest out of all of us to knowing her and understanding how she works. I’m our best bet at finding her,” he pleaded.

“If that’s the case, then I’m sure you won’t have any problem dredging up something of note from your encounter with her,” Gil challenged him.

Malcolm swiped his tongue across his lower lip. “Right, right. Of course,” he assured him.

“You said you think she sought you out.” Dani sat on the edge of the desk. “What did you guys talk about?”

He rounded the side of the desk, rubbing his chin. He could recall every second of their meeting, mostly because he had replayed it in his head all weekend trying to figure out where he went wrong. Now, under this new context, everything seemed foreign to him, as if the memories weren’t his own but someone else’s.

“She told me her name was Vixen, though I don’t think that’s true, either,” he relayed. “She tried to probe me for information,” he revealed to concern looks from the group. “Not that she got anything out of me,” he abated their fears. “When I told her what I did for work, she asked me what case I was working on and tried to get something out of me. But I don’t think she was worried about what we knew. I think it came more from a place of pride about what she had done.”

“Like how Ted Bundy would ask witnesses to recount his murders for him on the stand in court,” Dani added.

“So she’s a narcissist. Great,” JT said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“That’s good for your profile, Bright, but that doesn’t really help us find her,” Gil said, and he could hear the impatience creeping into his tone.

“I know, I know. I’m trying to think.” He planted his feet and massaged his temples. “It’s a lot to take in,” he whispered under his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut. What could he be missing?

 _“Any chance I’ll read about it in the papers anytime soon?”_ Her silvery voice echoed in his head. He felt like she was whispering directly into his ear.

_He shrugged. “Possibly.”_

_“Well, I won’t get too invested. I’d hate to be disappointed.” She brushed her bangs out of her face. “People with high expectations often stoop to revenge when they’re let down.”_

His eyes snapped open. “She said something about investing.” He tapped his finger against his bottom lip. “She mentioned being disappointed, and how having high expectations leads you to revenge when you’re let down.”

“What is that supposed to mean, and how does any of that relate to the case?” JT asked.

He gestured as he spoke, “She was trying to clue us in on the motive for the murder: revenge.” He looked to Gil. “Do you think we could take a look at a list of his clients’ investments within the last year?”

“You think this girl was a client of Bingman Williams?” JT raised a brow.

He wagged his finger. “Not exactly, but I think she’s trying to lead us to someone who is, and I’m willing to bet their involved with his murder somehow.” He looked at Gil with wide, hopeful eyes.

Gil let out a long sigh. “I’ll request access.” He pointed a finger at Malcolm. “And I’m setting up an appointment for you to describe what she looks like to a sketch artist.”

He mimicked saluting him. “Yes, sir.” Gil suppressed an eye roll and turned to leave. Malcolm’s voice stopped him before he could. “Does this mean I’m still on the case?”

He glanced at him over his shoulder. “For now.” He shot him a look that told him he was on thin ice before walking out into the hall.

JT moved to follow him, urgency in his step. “I better go help him. We need to find this girl stat.” He broke into a jog, chasing after Gil and slamming the door to the office behind him with so much force that the wall shook for a moment afterwards.

Malcolm exhaled with relief and leaned against the edge of the desk. He could feel his hand shaking, and he gripped it in his other hand to still the tremors. He blinked rapidly, trying to remember that morning’s affirmation. _Everything happens for a reason, maybe? Learn lessons from your past experiences, perhaps?_ He was blanking.

He was broken out of his state by Dani scooting closer to him on the desk. “If I ask you how you’re doing, are you actually going to tell me instead of regurgitating the same answer over and over?”

He clasped his hands in front of him and looked up at her. “How do you think I’m doing?”

She swung her legs back and forth. “I think you’re pretty shaken up, but I also think you’ve had lots of run-ins with killers before.”

“Yeah, but this is the first time I’ve almost slept with one.” His voice grew quieter at the last part. Why did the potential culprit of the case he was working on have to be exactly his type?

“First and last, I hope,” she joked, and he forced a halfhearted laugh. She smiled at him and knocked her shoulder into his playfully. “You’re not gonna let this affect the case though, right?”

“No, of course not.” She seemed convinced, but he wished he could believe his words as easily as she did. He still felt his stomach flip upside down each time he thought of her that night, but surely, the feeling would wane after a while. As much as he empathized with them, he couldn’t fawn over a killer.

Dani’s face grew serious. “Do you really think she’ll kill again?”

He nodded slowly. “I think there’s a strong possibility. It’s only a matter of time.” He was determined to find her before that happened, though. Suddenly, he pushed off of the desk. “I better go talk to the sketch artist before Gil yells at me.” He waved goodbye to her and headed for the door.

Despite how he felt, one thing was for sure: he would do anything to find her again.


	7. And Your Enemies Closer

It was cold out. Siren could feel the chill even through her Burberry trench coat. The leaves on the trees turned shades of maroon and brown and marigold and drifted off of the branches, floating through the air before falling into her path. She purposefully stepped on them when she spotted them. She liked the way they crunched under her feet.

Her stiletto boots clicked against the stone path that branched out onto Bethesda Fountain. Even for the time of year, Central Park was relatively empty. The occasional straggler walked through like they clearly had somewhere to be; they never lingered. Where there would usually be boats rowing across the water, the lake was completely still, the surface perfectly reflecting the gray, cloudy sky above, not a hint of sun to be seen.

A girl wearing yoga pants and walking her dog passed by Siren as she played with her yo-yo. The dog was a black, little, scruffy thing in desperate need of a grooming. When it looked up at her, it skidded to halt and stared at her with its beady, buggy eyes. It started barking a high pitched yap that pierced Siren’s ears and baring its yellow teeth in a way that might’ve been menacing if it wasn’t so small.

Yoga Pants glanced at the dog over her shoulder and started tugging on its leash, barely holding it back from pouncing on Siren’s leg. She shouted its name in a scolding tone (Bella or Fluffy or something dumb like that, Siren couldn’t remember), shooting her an apologetic look. She was finally able to coerce the dog away from her once Siren had put enough distance between the two of them.

She switched her yo-yo to her other hand, throwing and catching it with practiced ease. She spotted Aitch’s chinchilla fur coat sitting by the fountain overlooking the calm lake. She lifted her head when she saw Siren approaching.

She stopped in front of her, cocking a hip. “This is a little cliche, don’t you think?”

Aitch’s dull eyes followed the movement of the yo-yo up and down, up and down. “What are you doing?”

She quirked a brow. “You’ve never seen a yo-yo before?” She tossed it so it nearly grazed the pavement before retracting it with a flick of her wrist into her grip.

Aitch gritted her teeth. “Can you stop that?” Siren sighed before tucking the yo-yo into the pocket of her coat. “And take off your glasses when you speak to me.”

She clenched her jaw before whipping off her sunglasses, giving her an overly exaggerated eye roll once her eyes were visible. “Somebody’s grumpy today. What’s gotten into you?”

“Sit down,” she snapped, pointing next to her on the concrete ledge of the fountain. Siren reluctantly clipped her sunglasses on the collar of her dress and sat down next to her. “What have you been up to recently?”

Siren stared straight ahead of her as she spoke, “Just been practicing my yo-yo skills.”

“Really? Nothing else?” Aitch had a look on her face like she knew more than she let on. She took her silence as an answer. “‘Cause I heard you made a little visit to Amsterdam Billiards & Bar the other night.”

Siren picked at her nails, not giving her the satisfaction of evoking a reaction out of her. “How many dirty cops did you have to pay off to find that out?”

“I’m keeping an eye on you, Siren. That’s all.”

“By spying on me without my knowledge?” she shot back, shaking her head solemnly. “Where is the trust?”

Aitch narrowed her eyes at her until they were slits. “Don’t try and change the subject on me. What were you doing talking to Malcolm Bright?”

“I was figuring out who I was dealing with.” She crossed one leg over the other. “Keep your friends close and all that.”

She looked down her sloped nose at her. “After I had specifically told you not to?”

“I was trying to find out what he and his cop buddies had found out about the case so far.” Siren shrugged.

“By seducing him?” Aitch challenged her.

Her lips curved into a smirk. “Well, I’ve found it’s the most effective method of getting information out of men. Didn’t you do the same when you were younger?”

“If that’s the case, enlighten me then.” She folded her hands in her lap. “What were you able to find out?”

“Unfortunately, he didn’t say much. Just that the case was a doozy.” Siren thought it more impressive than anything that he had kept his resolve and hadn’t let anything slip. “His lips were sealed.”

Aitch pressed her wrinkled lips into a thin line. “Well, thanks to your outstanding detective work, the New York Police Department has connected you to the crime scene.”

She snorted. “Like it matters? They won’t find me anyway.”

She let out a frustrated breath. “If you could put aside your gigantic ego for one second and listen to me, Siren, you might remember that in our line of work, it is imperative to maintain secrecy and anonymity. Going around and making enemies within the NYPD is going to put that in jeopardy,” she seethed. “You get paid to kill people, not to investigate. Leave that to the cops.”

Siren stuck her tongue in her cheek. She wasn’t a fool; she knew it was dangerous for someone in her profession to get involved with a man like Malcolm. But she wasn’t like anyone else. She had proved that to him when she had spoken to him. Plus, she could use a little danger. She was bored. This city was sucking her dry, and she didn’t even think killing could make it any better. The feeling she got around Malcolm, however, was exquisite. She had never felt anything like it before, and it scared her, more than anything else had in a long, long time. It was exciting. She remembered the way his stubble had grazed against her lips when she had kissed him. If he was as smart as she assumed he was, she hoped she would be seeing more of him soon.

When Siren didn’t say anything for a while, Aitch smoothed back her gray-streaked hair damaged from years of dyeing with her hands. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I’ve got your next target for you.”

She shot her a look. “Are you going to start every meeting chewing me out before getting down to business?”

“Only if you keep giving me reasons to.” She put her purse in her lap and rifled through it before retrieving a manila folder. “Now, do you want to know who it is or not?”

Siren pursed her lips before snatching the folder from her hands. “Alright, I’ll bite. Who’s getting whacked this time?”

“Mario Castello. He’s a prominent crime lord in New York City,” Aitch explained as she flipped through the folder’s contents. “One of his rivals wants him taken out, but doesn’t want to be attached to the murder.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m guessing he’s got lots of security and is decently guarded.” She looked up at the older woman. “Got any tips that could help a girl out?”

She crossed one leg over the other. “He owns a restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen that he frequently visits. Do with that what you will.”

“Well, thank you for finally being helpful for once.” She closed the folder and set it down in her lap. “Is this time sensitive?”

“No, but I trust you to have it taken care of swiftly.” The corners of her lips lifted into a shit-eating smile.

“Consider it done.” She tucked the folder inside her coat. “Now, are we done here? It’s cold. A park is not an ideal place to meet in the fall.”

She stood up and started to walk away when Aitch called out to her in her emotionless voice behind her, “Siren?” She slowed to a stop before slowly turning around, fixing her with an impatient stare. “I do hope you’ve taken everything that I’ve said to heart.” She looked at her in a way that silently warned _or else_.

Her lips curled into a fake smile, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “Absolutely. Cross my heart and hope to die.” She spun around and waved goodbye as she strutted away. “ _Au revoir_ , darling.”

She passed a frazzled mother pushing her baby in a stroller as she left. The baby stared up at her with its round, glossy eyes, cooing softly. She made a face, and the baby promptly burst into tears. The mom gave her a disapproving glare before speeding up her pace. Siren merely slid her sunglasses on over her eyes and smirked.

A gust of wind blew through her hair, and she dug her yo-yo out of her pocket again. She threw it with precision as she walked, catching it effortlessly. At least she had the planning of a new murder to occupy her thoughts for a little while before they inevitably turned on to the handsome profiler hunting her down again.


	8. A Dish Best Served Cold

Malcolm was still reeling from the revelation a couple days ago when he walked into the station that evening.

He tried to push his thoughts of the woman without a name away by immersing himself into his work, but that was hard when there wasn’t much to go off of. They hadn’t made any more leeway on the case since he had connected Vixen to Sarah Brown. They were at a dead end. She was impeccably careful, and he would’ve despised her for it if it didn’t make him respect her a little bit more. She wasn’t like the other mindless, sloppy murderers they usually dealt with. Far from it, actually. It was a nice change of pace to have something he could really sink his teeth into. His urgency to find her grew stronger and stronger each day that passed, but they were stuck. Any hope of possibly finding her hung on the supposed hidden clue buried in the list of Mr. Phillips’s clients’ investments.

Gil, Dani, and JT were waiting for him in the hallway when he got there. When he walked in, their heads snapped to look at him, and he could tell by the looks on their faces they had news for him. “Bright, thank God you’re here,” Gil said.

“What happened?” He stopped in front of them and looked back and forth amongst them. “What’s going on?”

“You were right about Mr. Phillips’s investors. We found something,” Dani said.

His stomach churned with a whirlwind of anxiety and excitement. “What is it? What did you find?”

“One of his clients Edward Prescott made a huge investment a while back in a startup company. We’re talking hundreds of thousands of dollars,” Gil explained. “But then, when he goes to cash it in, his stocks are suddenly worth nothing. His money just vanishes into thin air like smoke.”

“So Benjamin talked him into some bad investments.” Malcolm chewed on his bottom lip in thought.

“Well, we checked his financial records, and he made two transactions of a hundred thousand dollars each to an account a couple weeks ago,” JT finished. “We tried to track down the account, but it was closed immediately after the money was withdrawn.”

His eyes went wide. “This fits with what Vixen said to me. Benjamin sweet talks Edward into trusting him, takes all his money, and runs. When Edward finds out what he‘s done, he’s so angry, he decides there’s only one solution to his problem: revenge.” He gesticulated frantically. “Do you know what this means?” He felt like a live wire; his whole body was vibrating. “Where’s Edward now? I need to speak with him as soon as possible.”

“He’s in custody. We arrested him a few hours ago.” Before Gil could even finish his sentence, Malcolm took off like a shot towards the interrogation rooms. He couldn’t stand still any longer. Gil, Dani, and JT were quick to follow after him. “You and Dani go in to talk to him. JT and I will keep an eye on things outside.”

Gil handed him a folder on the case, and Malcolm thanked him with a firm nod of his head. Dani pulled open the door to one of the interrogation rooms and held it for him. He lead the way into the room, and she wasn’t too far behind him. She let the door fall shut behind her with an echoing bang.

A man with coiffed, brown hair sitting at a metal table looked up at them when they walked in. He was wearing a Ralph Lauren polo tucked into his pants and shiny dress shoes. The lamp on the desk cast shadows across his face. He looked like your typical trust fund baby who was used to getting everything handed to him on a silver platter and was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, which only made Malcolm’s current conclusion more appealing.

“Mr. Prescott,” he introduced himself, trying to conceal the rapid rise and fall of his chest, “my name is Malcolm Bright. I’m a consultant with the NYPD.” He jabbed his thumb at Dani behind him. “This is Dani Powell. She’s a detective.”

“That’s great and all, but why am I being held here?” He frowned, his nose upturned in the air.

“Well, you’ve been charged with conspiracy to murder.” He raised a brow. “You should’ve been told that when they arrested you.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “Yeah, but I didn’t kill anybody.”

“ _You_ didn’t kill anybody, but someone did.” He reached inside the folder and slammed a photo of Benjamin’s dead body down on the table. “Benjamin Phillips was found drowned in a bathtub in his penthouse.” He stared Edward dead in the eye. “Somebody murdered him.”

Edward’s face paled as he looked down at the photo. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the image, as if the weight of his actions had finally hit him for the first time. Hid Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed roughly. “What does this have to do with me?”

Malcolm rounded the side of the table. “You knew Mr. Phillips, didn’t you?”

“Barely.” He crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged his shoulders. “I purchased some stocks from the guy, that’s all.”

“Not just some — a lot. Three hundred thousand dollars worth, if I’m being precise.” He pressed his hand flat against the table and loomed over him. “And you didn’t get anything in return.”

Edward clenched his jaw. “Yeah, he cheated me out of my money. Benjamin’s always been a smooth talker and a weasel. Everybody knows that.”

He backed away. “You don’t hold any animosity towards him?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Well, of course I was mad at first, but I got over it.” The way his face darkened contrasted his words. He tapped his fingers against the table. “I tried to look on the bright side. I know I can’t trust those Wall Street jack offs anymore. Consider it a lesson learned.”

“We found that you transferred a payment of two hundred thousand dollars to an account around the time of Benjamin’s murder,” Dani spoke up from the corner of the room where she was lurking. “What we would like to know is what you got in return for that?”

He looked up at her with a cocky expression. “What are you implying, detective?”

“We’re asking you if you hired someone to kill Benjamin Phillips,” Malcolm stated bluntly.

Edward’s look of shock took a second too long to register. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Well, if you have another explanation for the two hundred thousand dollars, be our guest. We’re all ears.” Dani leaned back against the wall.

He switched his gaze back and forth between the two. There was a tick in his jaw as he thought about his response. He slumped back in his chair and spread his legs wide, smugness radiating off of him in waves. “I won’t say anything else without my lawyer present.”

“You have motive, and we’ve already got evidence you paid. Maximum sentence for conspiracy to murder is life in prison. Minimum, you’re looking at twenty-five years,” Malcolm stressed. “You may be rich, but you’re going up against Benjamin Phillips’s legal team. He was one of the most influential stockbrokers on Wall Street. They’re not going down without a fight, and there’s not much your lawyers are going to be able to do for you.”

Beads of sweat glistened on Edward’s forehead under the light. He swiped them away with the back of his hand before they could roll down his face. His leg bounced up and down nervously, and his eyes flitted side to side, like the walls were slowly closing in on him and he was caged in. He was clearly feeling the pressure now.

“Look,” Malcolm leaned in close like he was telling him a secret, “you’re entitled, sure. You’re used to getting your way, and when someone threatened that, you went to extremes without really considering the consequences of your decision.” He shook his head slowly. “But you’re not a killer. We’re more worried about finding the person who is. If you’re able to provide us with some useful information, maybe we’ll be able to work something out for you.”

The only sound in the room was of his foot tapping against the floor until he broke the silence. “You promise you’ll help me?”

Malcolm pressed a hand to his chest. “I swear I’ll do everything in my power.” He could see Dani side-eyeing him out of the corner of his eye, but he pretended not to notice.

“Okay, okay,” he assured himself more than anyone else. He let out a shaky breath. “What do you want to know?”

Malcolm took the sketch of Vixen out of the folder. The sketch artist had done a fantastic job of capturing her essence from his words alone (though, he will admit, he did go into great detail describing her to him). A chill went down his spine just from glimpsing her hooded eyes and heart-shaped face drawn in lead. He flipped it around before he could stare at it too long and showed it to him. “Do you recognize this woman?”

He shook his head vigorously. “No. I’ve never seen her in my life, I swear.”

“Think, Edward.” He gripped the back of the chair across from him. “Are you absolutely sure?”

The fear in his wide eyes told Malcolm he was telling the truth. “Yeah, the lady I talked to was a lot older.”

Dani perked up at that. “What lady?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me her name.” He clung to the sides of his chair. “We met in Times Square. She told me to pay half before and half after to assure the job got done.”

Malcolm turned to Dani and whispered, “She must be a middle man. A sort of buffer between the hitman and the client.” He shifted his attention back to Edward. “There has to be something else, Edward. That’s not going to be enough.”

He blinked rapidly and wet his lips. “She said something about a siren.”

Dani quirked a brow. “Like the mythical creature that lured sailors and drowned them at sea?”

“She said ‘Siren will take care of it’ or something like that.” He wiped his clammy palms on his thighs. “I don’t know, I don’t remember exactly. Please, I was so mad. I didn’t think it through.” He looked like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

Malcolm’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Siren,” he murmured under his breath. He looked down at the picture he gripped in his hands. The slight curve of the drawing’s lips seemed to tease him. “That’s her name. Siren.”

The door burst open suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention. Gil peeked his head inside, his hand lingering on the doorknob. “Dani. Bright. I need to speak to you. Now.”

There was no room for argument in his tone. Malcolm swiftly left the room with Dani in tow. Gil shut the door behind them. “How did it go?”

“We got confirmation Siren is an assassin instead of a serial killer like we previously thought, and we learned the moniker she goes by.” He furrowed his brow at the worry lines creasing Gil’s face. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

He let out a short breath. “I got a call.” He looked gravely serious. “There’s been another murder.”


	9. Kissing and Killing Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Mother’s Day! Enjoy this chapter about Siren murdering someone :)

Castello’s restaurant was not what you would expect for the regular hangout of a crime boss. It wasn’t the typically flashy joint with scantily clad women and hulking, tattooed men (though Siren did witness some drug trafficking taking place in the back during her stakeout, but that didn’t surprise her). It was relatively unassuming and indistinguishable from any other Italian restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen besides the name attached to it.

Siren stared at the restaurant’s brick front and striped canopy from across the street. A pigeon landed by her foot, fluttering its wings. It hopped on its scaly talons closer to her, blinking its almost reptilian-like eyes up at her in curiosity. It looked dirty; its speckled feathers were coated in grime. She always thought birds were supposed to be beautiful, majestic creatures. Not rats with wings.

She stomped her foot, making the pigeon jolt in surprise. “Scram!” she exclaimed. The pigeon squawked and launched itself into the air, flying away.

She turned her attention back to the task at hand and stepped off of the sidewalk. She walked across the middle of the street. A car barreling towards her narrowly screeched to a halt, the bumper landing less than a foot away from her. The blaring of its horn filled the air, but she didn’t slow her pace or turn her head to even acknowledge the pissed off driver. She continued walking until she made it to the other side.

She went around the back of the restaurant. There was a white van parked in the narrow alleyway, and the back door was propped open with a door stopper. She pulled open the heavy door and stepped inside, a burst of cold air following her in before the door closed behind her. The din of glasses clinking, forks scraping against plates, and chatter reached her ears. A hallway stretched before her. Along the wall was a coat rack, several black aprons dangling from the hooks. Siren slipped off her coat and hung it on a spare hook before plucking one of the aprons from the bunch. She tied it around her waist and walked out into the main room of the restaurant.

Oil paintings adorned the stucco walls, and lights hanging from the ceiling cast a warm, orangey glow. Red pleather booths gave a feeling of intimacy, and the scent of garlic wafted through the air. It was generally crowded for a week night, but Siren caught sight of her target’s head of dark, thinning hair slicked back with grease sitting at a curved booth in the far back corner chatting with his associates.

She watched as a bleached blonde waitress whose push up bra was making her breasts defy gravity made her way over to their table, nearly falling flat on her face in the process due to her platform heels. She pulled her pocket sized notepad out of her apron and took their orders while they eyed her like a piece of meat. There was too much distance between them and Siren for her to hear what they were saying, but the waitress shot them a wink and flashed them a smile before turning and walking away.

Siren intercepted her on her way back. “Hey, Mr. Castello wants me to bring his table their drinks.”

The waitress stopped in her tracks and glared at her. “Who are you? One of Marina’s new hires?” She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked one hip. “God, you girls keep getting trashier and trashier year by year.”

Siren rolled her eyes and let out a slow, bored sigh. “Just give me the order already,” she demanded, the impatience bleeding through in her tone.

She clenched her jaw, her stare burning holes into Siren before she ripped the page from her notepad. “Whatever. I didn’t want to deal with those assholes today anyway.” Siren took it from her, and she hissed, “A piece of advice? If you want a good tip, give one of them a hand job in the bathroom.”

She stomped off angrily. Siren brushed off their coarse interaction and took the order over to the bar. A rather tall man was behind the counter, tending to the patrons sitting on the stools. She leaned over the counter on her elbows, and the man looked over at her.

“I need drinks for Mr. Castello’s table.” She extended the slip of paper with the order scribbled down in scrawled handwriting out to him.

At the mention of the gangster’s name, the bartender perked up. He snatched the order out of her hands. “Coming right up.” He was so flustered, he didn’t even seem to question her presence.

She watched him rush around the bar for a little while before turning around and leaning back against the counter. She crossed her ankles and tapped her nails against the polished wood surface. She wondered what Malcolm was doing right now, where he was, if he was thinking about her too. If he was still trying to chase her down or if he had given up and moved on to another case already. _If the latter was true, this would surely cement that he would come crawling back in no time._

She was snapped out of her thoughts by a tap on her shoulder. She whirled around to see the bartender sliding a tray full of drinks across the counter to her. “Here you go. It’d be best if you didn’t keep him waiting.”

She picked up the circular tray, balancing it effortlessly. She strutted over to the table in her heels with a sway in her hips. The men were laughing at something one of them had said, but their laughter quickly faded when she approached.

“Here’s your drinks, boys.” She leaned over as she placed the glasses on the table one by one, and their eyes strayed to the hint of cleavage peeking out of the low neckline of her top.

Mr. Castello let out a long, obnoxiously loud wolf whistle. “Fresh meat. Marina sure knows how to pick them.” He grinned at her, his singular gold tooth glimmering in the light. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

She stood up straight, smoothing out the fabric of her short skirt with her hands. “Lola.”

“Tell me, Lola,” he leaned forward, “is it true that redheads are as wild as everyone says they are?”

She propped the tray up on her hip and smirked. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Are you saying the carpet doesn’t match the drapes?” one of the men crowed, resulting in a round of boisterous laughter from the group.

“Don’t worry, honey. It wouldn’t bother me.” Another man winked at her.

She gripped the tray with both hands. “I’ll be back in a second to take your orders.”

She spun around and strutted across the room. She glanced over her shoulder, and Mr. Castello’s eyes flitted up from her ass to lock with hers. She beckoned to him with a crooked finger, and he said something to his cronies before throwing his napkin on the table and rising from his seat. She ditched the tray on an empty table and turned the corner for the hallway. She pushed through the door for the men’s room, and before it even had time to close, Mr. Castello entered.

She looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “I was hoping you would follow me.”

“I’m guessing you got the memo.” He tugged on the lapels of his pinstriped suit jacket. “Good girl.”

She checked the space underneath the stall door out of the corner of her eye to make sure the bathroom was completely empty. Then, she pushed him up against the sink. This close, he smelled of cigar smoke and overwhelmingly fragrant cologne. The mixture was revolting.

His eyes went wide. “Woah, feisty.” His tongue swiped over his bottom lip in a way she assumed he meant to be sexy. “I like it.”

She didn’t reply. She grabbed his tie and slowly loosened it. His eyes were glued to her hands as they pulled the tie to hang loose around his neck. Then, her lips parted into a wide smile as with a snap of her wrist, she yanked the tie tight around his throat.

His eyes bulged, nearly popping out of their sockets. He clawed at the striped fabric cutting off his circulation helplessly. She held it taut, mesmerized as his pudgy neck protruded around the tie like a rubber band around a watermelon. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He choked on his attempts to scream, only emitting puny, pathetic squeaks. His lips turned a light shade of blue as his eyes glazed over. The struggle left his limbs, and his body went limp.

She let go of his tie and pressed herself flat against the wall as he fell forward. He collapsed to the floor with a deafening thud. He landed with his head to one side and his limbs sprawled out across the bathroom floor. His body was completely motionless. Not a muscle twitched, and his chest was still.

She turned to the mirror and pulled out her lipstick. She twisted off the cap and applied a fresh layer of lipstick the same color as her wig, smacking her lips together. She stepped over the body and stared down at him, tilting her head to the side. She squatted down next to him and buried a hand in his hair. She jerked his head up violently, pressing a sticky kiss to his cheek. She reared back to admire her work. _The perfect finishing touch._

Her hand slipped from his hair, and his head hit the tile with a loud crack. She stood up and pushed through the door, leaving it to swing on its hinges. She couldn’t wait for Malcolm to hear about what she’d been up to since they met.


	10. Ghost

Malcolm leaned his forehead against the cold window, staring out at the brick fronts and asphalt that rushed by him in a blur of color. His breath left a mist of condensation on the glass. It felt like there was a white, hot ball of energy wedged underneath his ribcage, and the closer he got to the location of the murder, the more it was likely to explode at any moment.

“Hello?” Dani snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Malcolm?”

He blinked rapidly and sat up, stretching his limbs like he had just woken up from a deep slumber. He looked over at her sitting in the backseat of Gil’s car next to him. “You okay there?” She quirked a brow.

“Yeah, just wondering what we’re gonna find when we get there.” He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. Gil hadn’t told them much about what they were in for so far. His gaze flicked over to where he was in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white.

“Well, I just wanted to say you did a good job back there at the station,” she said. “That was really impressive.”

He threaded his fingers together. “Thanks. It’s not hard to read a guy like Edward. He’s extremely predictable. You just have to appeal to his baser instincts for self preservation, and he cracks open,” he prattled off absentmindedly.

She shot him a questioning look. “Well, you also guaranteed him protection we can’t provide.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “I know, Dani, but I had to. It’s the only way I was sure he would tell us what we needed to know.” What he didn’t say was that he was desperately willing to do anything it took to get ahead in this case, but Dani seemed to understand him anyway.

“I just hope your impulses don’t land you in hot water.” She crossed one leg over the other. “Gil’s already got one eye on you at all times as it is.”

“What? You don’t trust me to make sensible and deliberate decisions?” He gave her a cheeky smile.

She scoffed. “If your track record with the NYPD so far is anything to go by, I wouldn’t say you’ve instilled me with confidence.”

“Hey, Jodie Foster.” Malcolm’s head snapped forward to see JT twisted around in the passenger seat in front of him to look back at him. “You got a little something.” He gestured to his face.

Malcolm glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He traced the tip of his finger along the glass mark imprinted on his forehead. Dani stifled a snort that threatened to slip out with her hand. _Great._

Flashing blue and red lights drew their attention. Gil pulled over at the corner of a building with a brick front and a red striped awning. It looked like a restaurant. Two police cars were parked in front, and crime scene tape blocked off a section of the sidewalk. The second Gil shifted the car into park, Malcolm threw the door open and hopped out. He slammed it closed behind him with a click and charged towards the restaurant.

He ducked under the yellow tape, and from the looks on the faces of the two police officers standing guard, they were about to curse him out until Gil intervened. “He’s with me.” He showed them his badge, and they begrudgingly let Malcolm slide, but not before Gil shot him a withering look. Dani and JT did the same and crossed over to the other side of the line of tape. Malcolm wrenched open the glass door and passed it to Gil behind him as he stepped inside.

The restaurant was completely empty when he entered, besides the officers scattered about trying to placate some of the wait staff. The red pleather booths were barren and void of life. It looked as if the establishment had been interrupted in the middle of a meal. Half eaten dishes that had long gone cold were abandoned on tables draped with white, cotton table clothes. Some of the candles were still burning, fat drops of wax rolling down their sides. Their flames flickered and cast shadows on the stucco walls. Malcolm searched around frantically for a body slumped over in a chair or lying on the wooden floor that was in desperate need of a sweeping, but there wasn’t one anywhere to be seen.

He looked over at Dani, JT, and Gil, perplexed. “Where’s the victim?”

“Back here!” called a familiar voice from a hallway near the back of the restaurant.

The group exchanged a glance before heading in the direction of the voice. They turned the corner to see Edrisa leaning halfway out of a doorway into the hall, dressed in her usual white coat and blue latex gloves. “Edrisa,” Malcolm offered her a small smile, “nice meeting you here.”

“What a coincidence, right?” she joked. When no one laughed, she cleared her throat. “He’s in here.”

She waved them in, and Malcolm froze in the doorway. A man dressed in a pinstriped suit was lying on his stomach on the tiled floor of the men’s bathroom. One side of his face was visible, and his one eye was unblinking, gazing upon nothing. His skin had already turned a sickly pale color, the purple, blue, and green veins underneath becoming more prominent. His flesh was splotchy and reminded Malcolm of colby jack cheese. He wrinkled his nose.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked over to see Dani smiling at him in a way that told him to get a move on. He walked further into the bathroom to allow the others to get a good look at the body as well. They awkwardly shuffled around inside the cramped space. It was too small to contain five people comfortably, let alone in addition to a dead body on top of that.

“Who is he?” he asked.

“Mario Castello. Notorious crime lord,” Gil filled him in. “He runs a mob that deals in the usual seedy gang activity: drugs, weapons, prostitution, extorting local business owners. You name it, it’s in their wheelhouse.”

“Sounds like he was a real outstanding citizen,” JT quipped.

He brushed off his remark. “This was his restaurant. There were some rumors he peddled drugs in the back, but nothing that’s been confirmed. He was having dinner with some friends and went to the bathroom. After he had been gone for a while, they went to go check up on him and found this.”

Malcolm walked around the body, observing it from different angles. “What’s the cause of death?”

“Strangled with his own tie. Note the bruising on his neck and the discoloration of his lips.” She gestured to the tie constricting his neck and his mouth with the pen in her hand. As she had said, his lips were an unnaturally blue color. “Gotta say, first time I’ve had one of these. Never seen anything quite like it.”

Gil raised a bushy brow. “He’s a big guy. Whoever did that must’ve been pretty strong.”

“That’s true, but if you get enough leverage, you can strangle anyone.” Her eyes went wide behind the large frames of her glasses, and her mouth rounded into the shape of a small ‘o.’ “Not that I would know by experience, of course.”

Dani leaned against the edge of the sink. “This seems pretty cut and dry.” She flattened her lips into a straight line. “A drug deal gone awry, maybe?”

She recovered from her momentary embarrassment and squatted down next to the body. “Well, there _is_ this, but I don’t know what to make of it.” She picked up the body’s head and lifted it so the other side of his face came into view. Standing out against the pallid flesh of his cheek was a kiss mark in a shade of lipstick as bright as an exit sign.

Malcolm’s mind flashed with images of a raven-haired woman with rouge-colored lips pressing a very similar looking kiss to his own cheek. His eyes grew to the size of saucers. He backed away, overwhelmed by the rush of memories, and stumbled. He held onto the door of the stall behind him to keep from tripping over his own two feet. The others looked over at him with concern.

“Malcolm?” Dani pushed off of the sink and neared him. “Are you okay?”

“You’ve been awfully quiet so far.” JT raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He was sure he was as pale as the body lying on the floor. “It’s her,” he whispered as if the mere mention of her would summon her presence. _If only it were that easy._

Dani crossed her arms over her chest. “Who?”

He locked eyes with her. “It’s Siren. She’s struck again.”

She sighed. “Malcolm, we don’t know that for sure. This guy was a walking target. Anyone could’ve done this.”

“Please, this is _exactly_ her MO.” He pushed past them and stood next to the body, his shoes inches away from the man’s lipstick-stained cheek. “She sequestered the victim, killed him in a passionate manner, and left no evidence behind. Only a squeaky clean crime scene.”

“Then how do you explain that?” JT pointed to the kiss still on the man’s face.

His arms gesticulated faster and faster the increasingly excited he got. “The other murder was her purely doing her job. _This_ , on the other hand, was a performance. She’s showing off.” His blood ran cold when the realization hit him like a freight train. “She’s sending me a message.”

“Okay, I’m lost.” JT raised a hand like a kid in a classroom. “Does anyone here understand what this raving lunatic is talking about?”

“The lipstick stain.” He bent down next to Edrisa and gestured to the man’s cheek. “Don’t you remember? The night I met her, she kissed me in the exact same way.”

Gil’s countenance turned into a mix equal parts shocked and furious. “She _what_?”

Malcolm internally cursed himself for his slip up and was quick to set the record straight. “Nothing happened, though. I swear,” he assured him, arms stretched forward in a show of trust.

“Well, I wouldn’t say _nothing_ happened, Romeo,” JT interjected. “You did almost go home with her. Now imagine if _that_ had happened.”

Gil shot him an absolutely scalding look, and Malcolm felt as if he had been slapped in the face. Before Gil could accuse him of anything, he pleaded, “But I didn’t though! Can we all just focus on that aspect right now?”

The corners of Gil’s lips contorted into a discontented frown. “What is this supposed message she’s sending you?”

Malcolm took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the rattled thoughts flying around inside his brain. He looked over his shoulder at the body. “She’s taunting me. She knows we’re onto her and she doesn’t even care. Because she knows we’ll never catch her.”

“How insightful,” JT commented, sarcasm creeping into his tone.

He turned on him, jaw clenched. “It’s true! She thinks she’s smart, and she’s right, because each time we discover something new, it’s always something she wants us to find and it leads us no where. Each step forward we take is two steps back. No matter what we do, we’re no closer to finding her. We’re right back at square one where we started.”

Dani grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to focus on her. He hadn’t even noticed his hand started to shake until he felt his fingertips tremble against his pant leg. “Malcolm, calm down.” Her tone was calm and soothing. “We’re gonna find her, okay? But only if you can concentrate and help us.”

His chest rose as he sucked in a deep breath, and he slowly exhaled, puffing out his cheeks as he did so. “Right. Back to the task at hand.” Dani relinquished her grip on him and made room between them. “Is there anyone we could chat with? Anyone that might’ve seen her?”

He could tell by the grim lines of Gil’s face that he was still unhappy and hadn’t yet forgotten about the information Malcolm had unintentionally revealed. “I think some of the wait staff is still here. Maybe they saw something.”

Malcolm was the first one out the door and into the hallway. He turned back into the main room, and he could tell by the sound of footsteps falling instep with his that the others weren’t far behind. He spotted a waitress standing next to an older woman closer to the other side of the room where officers were jotting down statements from the wait staff on notepads. They looked a little frightened, but not nearly as affected as the rest of the witnesses. He made a beeline to them and inserted himself into the space between the two officers talking to them.

“Excuse me, I’m Malcolm Bright. I’m a consultant with the NYPD.” He ignored the glares the officers shot in his direction and offered his hand to the waitress to shake.

She accepted it with a weary eye. “Brittany Thompson. I’m just a waitress here.”

“I see.” He rescinded his hand. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Sure, but I don’t know how much of a help I can be.” She shrugged.

“Miss Thompson, did you notice anything unusual or out of the ordinary leading up to Mr. Castello’s murder?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. It was just another normal, shitty day at work. Well, until all this happened.” She gestured to the chaos around them.

He tried to control the incessant stammer in his right hand. He was beginning to think this was a waste of time. “Did you see anyone unfamiliar or suspicious, perhaps?” he prodded her further.

Her eyes lit up with a spark of recognition, and he knew he had found something. “There was the new waitress. She took Mr. Castello’s drinks to his table.” She rolled her eyes. “Real slutty. Exactly his type.”

“What are you talking about?” the graying woman beside her spoke up. “I didn’t hire anyone. Haven’t for months, in fact.”

He could barely contain his joy. He fumbled for the sketch stuffed into his suit jacket and smoothed out the well worn wrinkles from being crumpled. “Is this what she looked like?” He showed it to her.

She tilted her head to the side as her gaze raked over the paper. “Yep. That’s her. Except she had red hair.” She rolled her eyes again so hard that he almost only saw the whites of her eyes for a second. “Like I said, _exactly_ his type.”

There was a pang of jealousy in his gut at the thought of Siren seducing and kissing him on the cheek the exact way she had done to him (with a very different outcome, of course), but he pushed it down. He could deal with that later. “Thank you for your time, Miss Thompson. That’s all I need from you.”

“Wait, is she the one who did him in?” She smacked the piece of gum she was chewing on obnoxiously before coming to a conclusion. “Good for her. I always thought he was a pig.”

Malcolm walked away without a response. He rejoined JT, Dani, and Gil. “I got visual confirmation that she was here. She pretended to be a waitress to get close to him.”

“Well done, Bright,” Gil congratulated him, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re off the case.”

He started for the door, and Malcolm’s heart sank to his stomach like stone. “What?” He chased after him. “You... you can’t do that!”

Gil whirled on him, teeth bared and eyes narrowed like a viper poised to strike. “There’s no room for discussion, Malcolm. You’re too close to the killer. If we want any chance of finding her before she kills again, we can’t have you involved.” His expression softened for a second. “I’m sorry, really. I know you wanted really badly to be the one to find her. But trust me, Malcolm. This’ll be good for you.”

He pushed through the glass door, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll get you assigned to a different case ASAP!” before exiting. Dani traipsed after him, shooting Malcolm an apologetic glance his way. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over to see JT.

“You did your best, Blue’s Clues. It just wasn’t good enough.” He pointed at him as he passed him. “I hope almost sleeping with a murderer was worth it. See you around the station some time maybe?”

Malcolm forced a dry laugh. JT followed the others, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the abandoned restaurant, and from the sound of the retreating rev of an engine, he was going to have to call a cab home.


	11. Watching You

_“Every breath you take, and every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take, I’ll be watching you...”_

Sting’s vocals drifted out of the overhead speakers as Malcolm moved from warrior one into warrior two. He was hoping that doing some yoga would be enough to clear his head and start his day right this early in the morning. He stepped back and bent forward at his hips, pressing his hands flat against the floor and pushing back in his heels.

“Nice downward dog. Gotta say, I’m loving the view.”

Alarm bells started going off inside his head at the voice. He looked down at his feet and saw a pair of tall heels attached to two very long legs behind him. He dipped down and curved his spine into cobra before flipping over. Siren was standing before him, dressed exactly how she had been the night he had met her, in the same black dress and stockings. Fear gripped him for a moment until he gave her a second look. He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. She looked too perfect to be real, as if she had walked straight out of his memory, and her image was hazy, wavering the longer he stared at her.

“You’re not real,” he finally uttered.

She snorted. “Obviously not.” He watched mesmerized as she walked over to his sofa and sat down, crossing her legs.

“Why are you here?” He moved to sit up with his legs folded underneath him. “Dad couldn’t make it today?”

She chuckled at that. “The mind sees what it wants to see, Malcolm.” She tilted her head to the side. “And you do want to see me so badly, don’t you?”

He closed his eyes. “You’re just a hallucination, a figment of my imagination. When I open my eyes, you’ll be gone.” He breathed in deeply through his nose and let out a slow exhale before hesitantly opening his eyes.

She was still sitting there on the couch cushions, quirking a brow at him. “How’s that working out for you?” She stretched one arm across the back of the couch. “I’m telling you, it’s gonna take more than yoga or the techniques your therapist taught you to get rid of me.”

He clenched his jaw, determination filling him. “Maybe so, but I know what’ll do the trick.”

He jumped to his feet and marched into the kitchen. He looked at the labels on the orange medicine bottles scattered across his concrete countertop. He grabbed one and opened it, fumbling for a second with the childproof cap. She craned her neck to watch him over her shoulder, amusement etched into the delicate features of her face. He shook two little, white pills into the palm of his hand and tipped his head back, swallowing them dry. He looked over at her, a triumphant grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Right, then.” She stood up, smoothing out the skirt of her dress with her hands. “While we’re waiting for those to kick in, we have some unfinished business to discuss.”

“There’s nothing to say.” He rummaged through his cabinets for a glass. “Gil removed me from your case, remember?”

“And you’re just going to give up that easily?” She rounded the couch. Her heels didn’t click against the wooden floor as they should have. It almost seemed as if she was floating on air. “I have to say, I’m a little disappointed. I expected more from you than that.”

He filled the glass with water from the fridge. “I’m not giving up, okay? I’m still going to find you.” He ran a hand through his hair, strands sticking up randomly in different directions. “I just need to do it without Gil finding out. It’s going to be a lot harder now that I’m not on the case.”

“Yes, but your little detective buddies are useless without you.” She leaned her elbows on the counter across from him. “Both you and I know that. As much as you love them, let’s be honest, you’re the only one who stands a chance at actually finding me.”

He guzzled the water in big gulps, soothing his throat. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. His hands itched to reach out and touch her, to find out if they would go through her like she was some sort of specter or latch onto something tangible, but he was scared what he would find and what he would do with that information. “Okay, you made your point. Can you leave now?”

Her lips curled into a smirk. “You do realize that I’m inside your head, right? I’m the visual manifestation of all your subconscious thoughts.” She slowly stalked towards him like a predator does their prey, running her fingertips along the countertop as she did so. “I know everything you’re thinking.” She stopped inches away from him. “I know you wish I was really here right now.”

She was so close, that if he moved his hand just a little bit, he would graze her skin. He swallowed roughly. “That’s not true.”

Her smirk grew into a full-on grin. “You can deny it all you want, Malcolm, but we both know it’s the truth. Eventually, you won’t be able to push it down anymore and you’ll crack under the pressure.” There was a sparkle in her gray eyes that was so like the flesh and blood version of her. His mind could be really convincing. “I just hope I’ll actually be there to watch what happens.”

She leaned in, and every muscle in his body tensed. His ringtone pierced the air and drew his attention away from her. He looked down at his phone buzzing on the countertop, and when he looked back up, she was gone, empty air where she had once been. _Guess the pills must be doing their job._ He stuffed the disappointment that washed over him down deep in his gut and shook his head, trying to regain what little clarity he had left. He paused the music and picked up his phone, glancing at the caller ID to see that his mom was the one who was calling him.

 _Great,_ he internally groaned, _just what I needed._ He rolled his eyes before jabbing the accept button with his thumb and holding his phone up to his ear. “Hello?” he said in a hopefully convincingly cheery tone.

“Good, you’re awake,” his mother’s lilted voice filled his ear. “Malcolm, darling, I need to talk to you. Can you come over as soon as possible?”

He rubbed his eye with his free hand. “We can’t do this over the phone?”

“No. It’s a sensitive matter, and usually, I would go barging into your apartment and demand that you speak with me, but I’m slated to have company over later today.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He wondered what sensitive matter she could possibly be alluding to. Probably something about his dad. Whatever it was, he was not looking forward to it. Regardless, he replied, “Just give me a minute, and I’ll be right over, okay?”

“Alright. I’ll be waiting.”

“Okay, bye.” He hung up and flung his phone onto the countertop carelessly. He drained the rest of his water and hit play on the song before scurrying off to get ready, purging the visit from the vision of his nemesis out of his mind.

_“Every move you make, and every vow you break, every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I’ll be watching you.”_


	12. Salt in the Wound

The living room was empty when Malcolm got there. He paused, listening intently for any signs of life in the house. He thought he could hear the echo of voices down the hallway and took off in that direction.

“Mother?” he called. Laughter came from behind the closed doors of the dining room. He furrowed his brow. The doors were rarely ever closed. “Mother?”

He pushed the double doors open and burst into the room. His mother and a woman he didn’t recognize looked over at him from the end of the long dining table, their lighthearted laughter slowly fading. Paperwork and binders were spread across the table in front of them. He assumed they must have been in the middle of a meeting before he so rudely interrupted.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up.” His mother leaned back in her chair. “You do realize ‘as soon as possible’ doesn’t mean ‘take as much time as you need,’ right?”

“When you called me, I was still in my pajamas.” His gaze flickered over to the woman beside him, and he remembered they weren’t alone. “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. Malcolm Bright.”

“Eve, this is my son.” His mother gestured to him. “Eve Blanchard fights global human trafficking. I’m giving her all of our money.”

At the mention of her name, Eve sat up straight in her chair. He took in her appearance for the first time. Soft, angelic curls of blonde hair framed her round face. She had pretty features, cornflower blue eyes and pink lips. She had the kind of open and honest face that you could trust, the kind that didn’t conceal fatal secrets under hidden depths. She seemed like the type of person you could depend on to be truthful, not the type that told pretty lies with a smile on her lips. _I could really use someone like that in my life right about now_ , he thought.

He smiled. “Thank God.”

She perked up. “And what do you do?” she asked.

“I’m in law enforcement.” He adjusted the lapels of his suit jacket. “I work as a consultant for the NYPD profiling,” he elaborated.

She raised her brows and folded her hands in her lap. “Sounds exciting.”

He shrugged, sheepish. “It’s really just a lot of boring paperwork.”

She narrowed her perceiving eyes at him like she could see right through him. “Somehow I doubt that.”

He locked eyes with her. “Well, it has its perks.” He clasped his hands in front of him.

She leaned her elbows on the table (an action, which, his mother scolded him for all the time as a child). “Such as?”

“Flexible work hours for one, so I can be at my mother’s every beck and call.” He shot his mother a pointed look.

She was watching the conversation playing out before her with an amused smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. When she realized she was being addressed, she cleared her throat. “Yes, speaking of, my impolite son and I need to have a little chat.” She shifted in her chair and looked at Eve. “Could you excuse us for a moment, darling?”

“Of course.” The legs of her chair scraped against the wooden floor as she pushed it back to stand.

“I promise it won’t take long,” he assured her.

His mother side-eyed him. “That doesn’t mean much coming from you, dear.”

Eve chuckled lightly and made eye contact with Malcolm again as she passed him on her way out, her shoulder brushing against his. She stepped out of the room with a small smile on her face and quietly closed the door behind her.

The second the door shut, his mother gave him a knowing look. “What was all that about?”

He pulled a confused expression. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you flirting,” she sing-songed in a melodic tone. “I don’t blame you. Eve is a very beautiful woman.”

He furrowed his brows. Had he really been flirting? How had his mother realized before he had? “Well, as true as that may be, she’s not my type.” He pulled out the chair across from the one Eve had occupied a moment earlier.

“Right, I forgot.” She rolled her eyes. “Eve doesn’t kill people as an extracurricular activity.”

He froze in the middle of sitting down. “What makes you say that?”

She sighed, exasperated. “Your job with the NYPD is taking up all your time. I haven’t talked to you in days! What mother doesn’t get to see her son whenever she likes?”

He sat down and released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’ve been working on this case for the past couple of weeks, and it’s really difficult.”

“Yeah. I know.” She reached under a stack of papers and pulled out a newspaper. She slapped it down on the table in front of him.

He was about to question what exactly he was supposed to be looking at when a headline caught his attention. He leaned over the table and examined the newspaper. It had been folded to a page with an article detailing the murders Siren had committed (well, with about as much information the reporters could scrounge up from snooping around the crime scenes and bugging police officers). Staring back at him were black and white photos of the two victims, Benjamin Phillips and Mario Castello. They both looked so unlike when he had seen them: alive, for one, and smiling and happy.

He looked up at his mother who was patiently waiting for a response with one expertly plucked eyebrow raised. All he said was, “I didn’t know you still got the paper delivered.”

She frowned. “Malcolm, please stop kidding around. This is a serious matter.”

“What does any of this have to do with me?” he asked in a defensive tone.

She didn’t say anything, merely pointed to the newspaper with a manicured fingernail without even glancing down. His eyes moved left to right as he read the line she pointed to. _Detective Gil Arroyo quickly arrived on the scene soon afterwards, detectives Dani Powell and JT Tarmel as well as profiler Malcolm Bright accompanying him._

His face flushed a vibrant shade of pink. “Okay, so maybe it _does_ have to do with me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration and leaned her forehead on her hand. “Malcolm, I’m worried about you. There’s another killer on the loose, and I can only imagine you’re out there running around willy nilly, putting yourself in harm’s way. The stuff they’ve written in that article, Malcolm...” she trailed off, seeming to regain her composure. “It’s terrible. I’m scared.” There was a tremor to her voice; she sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

“Hey.” He twisted around in his seat to face her and grabbed her hands, forcing her to focus on him. “You don’t have to worry, okay? Gil took me off of the case.”

She let out a sigh of relief, her chest visibly rising and falling. “Finally, that man takes my advice for once.” Her respite was short lived, however, because she eyed him suspiciously. “But that does make me wonder, why the sudden change of heart?”

He blinked. He didn’t like lying to her, but he couldn’t just come right out with it and say, _oh, he removed me because I almost slept with a highly trained assassin who’s killed at least two men that we know of_. Too many people knew about that already, thanks to JT’s big mouth and the vendetta he had against him for no feasible reason. Plus, she was already freaked out enough as it was; he didn’t want to make her fret even more on top of it.

“I was too invested in the case.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, and he didn’t even have to feign a pained expression. The wound was still fresh and hadn’t yet healed. “He got sick of me spending one too many late nights at the station.”

She nodded, seemingly convinced. “Well, I guess he came to his senses. He was so insistent before that he needed your services no matter what.” Suddenly, she looked up at him through long lashes. “You’re not upset, are you? You’re going to let this go?”

“Of course.” Now, that was a lie. He was already forming plans and running through multiple scenarios in his head as to how he was going to prove his value to Gil. “He’s already assigned me to another case.”

She pursed her lips, disappointed. “I suppose it’s only fair.”

He patted the back of her clasped hands before pulling away. “I’d love to stay and chat, Mother, but I’d hate to keep your guest waiting longer than necessary.”

“How considerate of you, Malcolm.” She sat up straight and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Maybe next time you’ll show up on time.”

She reached for the newspaper, but he snatched it out of her grasp. “I think it’s better if I hang onto this.” He shook it at her. “You shouldn’t be reading stuff like this. It’s bad for your mental wellbeing.”

“If it makes you feel better,” she abated him. He tucked it into his suit jacket and walked over to the door. “Don’t be a stranger!” she called after him.

He stepped out into the hall, leaving the door open a crack, and saw Eve leaning against the wall, her eyes glued to the phone in her hand. She looked up at him when she heard the creak of the hinges and smiled. “She’s all yours.” He gestured to the dining room behind him.

She laughed. “Thanks. It was nice meeting you.”

“Please, it was my pleasure.” He pressed a hand to his chest.

She gazed up at him, her blue eyes shining. “I’m really glad I bumped into you.”

He didn’t know why, but his stomach fluttered at the way she said that. “Likewise.”

Her face broke out into an even bigger smile. “I hope to bump into you again sometime.” She walked past him and touched the doorknob. However, she lingered in the doorway. She looked back at him once more over her shoulder before returning to the dining room.

It was starting to get dark on his way back to his apartment. The sun was setting over the Hudson, and Malcolm could just make out some stars peeking out in the night sky. His mind was swirling in juxtaposition to the placid waters of the river outside his car window. Thoughts were flying through his head at a million miles an hour, but no matter how far they stretched to, they all led back to Siren. He was exhausted. He wished he could retreat to sleep, but he was certain his night terrors would return and feast on the insecurities he was harboring just beneath the surface of his consciousness.

He got out of his mother’s black SUV with the tinted windows and climbed the stairs to the floor his apartment was on. He was too antsy to stand still in an elevator right now. He was so distracted that he didn’t even question why his door was unlocked or whether or not he had forgotten to lock it before he left, merely twisting the doorknob and pushing it open without a second thought.

He was halfway through shucking off his jacket when he heard a voice that made his blood run cold. “I have to say, I _love_ your apartment!” It sounded different, and yet familiar in a way that sent a chill down his spine. “It’s amazing what Mommy’s money can buy you these days, isn’t it?”

He stopped dead in his tracks. On the other side of the room from him was the very woman he had dreaded (and yet, part of him didn’t want to acknowledge that that wasn’t the entire truth) to reappear. Siren stood, dressed in all black and looking every part the dangerously tempting vixen he had met that fateful night in the bar.

“Hello, Malcolm.” She smirked. “Missed me?”


	13. Suicide and Stolen Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm has a casual conversation with an assassin.

“Hello, Malcolm. Miss me?”

Siren stood with her legs wide apart, an uncontrollable grin spreading across her lips as she watched a mixture of shock and confusion flicker across his face. She had been waiting, coveting the moment that she would see him again for so long that now that it was here, it felt like volts of electricity were thrumming through her veins.

But then, his expression contorted into one of annoyance. “Not you again.” He sighed and finished taking off his suit jacket, draping it across the back of his sofa. “Can you please leave me alone? I’m tired.”

That took her aback. “I have to admit, this isn’t the way I expected you to react. You don’t seem too surprised to see me.”

He looked up from massaging his temples, and his bright blue eyes went wide. _That’s more like it._ “You’re really here,” he murmured so softly it was barely audible.

“Obviously.” She struck a ridiculous pose. “In the flesh.”

He bit his bottom lip. “How did you get in?”

“You can look up how to pick a lock on wikiHow. It’s the first thing you learn in Assassination 101,” she joked. “You really need to get some better security. You’d think with all your family’s money and your job as a profiler for the NYPD, you’d be well guarded.”

He didn’t say anything, merely stared at her with a hint of fear in his eyes. She would recognize that look anywhere. “I’m not here to kill you, if that’s what you think.” She cracked a smile. “If I wanted to, I would’ve done so already.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t call the police on you right now.”

Even though he was doing his best to scare her, she remained unfazed. “Because you know the second you do, I’ll leave, and you couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to get a chance to talk to me,” she challenged him.

He clenched his jaw before his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I need a drink.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and trudged over to the bar. He seemed convinced she meant him no harm now.

“Be a doll and fix me one as well,” she called after him.

He walked behind the bar and bent down, rummaging through the cabinets. “What do you want?” he shouted over his shoulder.

“Whatever you’re having is fine.” She wandered around, taking in the interior of his apartment. She didn’t really get a chance to look around before beyond a first glance. She was too focused on what she was going to say when he walked in the door. She stopped in front of a tall, glass case along a wall displaying several different types of axes, katanas, and other assorted blades. She quirked a brow. _Nice blade collection._ Not exactly the type of thing she expected a rich consultant for the NYPD to keep in his home, but she appreciated the eccentricity.

She walked by the couch and stopped when she noticed something peeking out of his suit jacket. “What’s this?” She grabbed it and unfolded it to reveal a copy of the day’s newspaper turned to the article about her and her two most recent victims. Malcolm set down two crystal glasses on the bar and look over at her. “Oh, yes. I read this this morning. I was quite flattered they chose to include me in today’s issue.” She put the newspaper back where she found it and wrinkled her nose. “Although, I thought the article focused way too much on them and not enough on me. After all, they wouldn’t even be written about if it wasn’t for what I had done to them.”

He screwed the cap off of a bottle of dark liquid and poured it into the two glasses. “Why did you kill Mario Castello?”

She strutted over to him, rolling her eyes. “Can we not talk shop right now? It’s killing my vibe.” She picked up one of the glasses and brought it to her lips. She didn’t blink as she swallowed, savoring the way the drink burned her throat as it slid down. “I have to admit, I’m not usually a whiskey girl, but this stuff is good. I’m guessing you only buy top shelf liquor?”

He took a sip from his own glass, narrowing his eyes at her. “We arrested Edward Prescott. I know you were hired to kill Benjamin Phillips.” He ran his tongue across his lower lip, catching the remaining droplets of whiskey. “I know you’re an assassin.”

She leaned her elbows on the bar across from him. “I know. You catch on quick. I’m very impressed.” She swirled her drink in her hand, watching the light refract in the honey brown liquid as it sloshed around. “It’s amazing the impact a few well placed words can have.”

He set his glass down with a clink. “That night at the bar...” She could see almost a look of hurt in his eyes. “You played me. You lied to me.”

Laughter bubbled out of her. “I didn’t lie to you. I am from somewhere far away, and I am an actress. My job requires me to take on a lot of different roles in order to achieve my goal.” A shiver rolled through him at her words. “In fact, I only lied to you as much as you did to me.”

He furrowed his brows. He looked adorable when he was confused, she decided. “What are you talking about?”

“You told me your name was Malcolm Bright.” There was a glint in her eye. “But that’s not exactly true, is it?”

He swallowed roughly. His hand curled around the glass started to shake, and he unfurled it from his grasp. She felt a peculiar satisfaction at evoking such a response out of him. It made her feel drunk on power. “I was intrigued when I found out you were a Whitly. I mean, I’m no stranger to bad fathers, but a serial killer for a dad? That’s gotta mess with your head.” She jabbed a thumb behind her at all the medications littered across his kitchen island. “Is that why you’re popping pills like a fifties housewife?”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. She could tell he was trying his best to remain calm. “Stop.”

“You know, there’s a theory that it can be passed down. It’s called the serial killer gene. All it takes is something to flip the switch, and you’ve gone through more trauma than anyone should have to in a lifetime.” She leaned back against the bar and considered him, lips pursed. “Your little sister is determined, I’ll give her that, but she doesn’t seem cutthroat enough. You, on the other hand...” Her lips curled into a smirk. “Have you ever wondered if you have what it takes?”

“I mean it, Siren, stop,” he said through gritted teeth. There was a fire burning in his eyes she had never seen before, and it excited her.

“Or what?” She leaned closer to him, taunting him. “Are you gonna hit me? That would be very out of character for you.”

His visage softened. He seemed to snap out of whatever temporary frustration had taken over him and regained his composure. “What about you?” He folded his arms over the bar. “You seem to know everything about me, and yet I know close to nothing about you. And not about Siren, about the _real_ you,” he was quick to clarify.

A hint of weakness flickered across her face for a moment, but as fast as it had come, it vanished. “Uh, uh, uh!” she tutted, wagging a long, elegant finger at him. “You have to have a higher relationship status in order to unlock my tragic backstory, and you’re not quite there yet.” She raised her glass. “Maybe one day, though.”

He gripped the edge of the countertop. “You’ve _killed_ people,” he hissed like it was some sort of secret.

She quirked a brow. “Are we stating the obvious now?”

“I just want to understand why,” he pleaded.

She rested her chin in her palm. “You’re supposed to be good at empathizing with murderers, right? Getting into their heads? That’s what makes you such a good profiler? Then why don’t you see what I’m doing? I kill bad people: drug dealers, gangsters, frauds, other people who kill people! And only so I can make an honest living. If anything, _I’m_ the victim here! What’s the saying?” She snapped her fingers a couple of times before a lightbulb went on over her head. “Oh! Don’t hate the player, hate the game. That’s it.”

From the look on his face, he wasn’t buying it. “You and I both know you enjoy killing. The money is just an added bonus.”

She smiled cheekily at him. “Okay, so what if I do?” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t have an excuse to if there wasn’t such a high demand. Honestly, how come the first thing men go to is murder? Don’t they ever think about other, less violent ways to solve their problems?”

He drained the rest of his glass’s contents and reached for the bottle to pour himself another. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I got thrown off your case.”

Her smile dropped. “What?” she snapped. “By who? That annoying, father figure detective of yours?”

“That’s the one,” he confirmed.

She groaned. “I swear, some people can be so territorial. They want so badly to take what they believe is rightfully theirs, they don’t care who they have to step on on the way in order to get it.”

He shook his head. “Gil’s not like that. He wants what’s best for me. He can just be a little too severe sometimes.” He seemed like he was starting to let down his guard around her. “Plus, our interaction at the bar didn’t help.”

She blushed. “That was my bad. But they’ll come crawling back to you in no time. You just need to get back on the horse.” She stuck her hand inside her jacket. “Which reminds me, I got a gift for you.”

She produced the watch she had taken and displayed it to him like she was handing him the keys to the kingdom. He stared down at it quizzically for a moment before his eyes sparked with recognition. “Is that what I think it is?” He pointed at the watch in her hand.

“If you think it’s Benjamin Phillips’s watch, then yes, it is,” she quipped. “I was going to keep it for myself, but it’s not really my style. Then I thought about selling it, but I decided that you should have it.” She held it out to him. “Well? Go on. Take it.”

He chewed on his lip in hesitation, but after a moment, he reached out and took the watch from her. His fingers brushed against hers, and she was surprised she didn’t see sparks flying from her fingertips by the current running through her veins. He seemed to feel the sensation as well by the way he quickly retracted, fiddling with the watch in his hand. “Thanks?” he said as more of a question than a statement.

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Don’t mention it. Maybe it’ll inspire you to get back in the saddle.” She preened.

“As long as you don’t expect me to be indebted to you in some way.” He tucked the watch into his pants pocket.

She hid her frown. Part of her was hoping that he would put it on, but she understood why he didn’t. It was, after all, technically evidence. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

A strange look came over his face, an expression she couldn’t quite read. “Can I ask you a question?”

She lifted a brow, intrigued. “Depends what it is.”

It took him a minute to find the words. “Why did you come here?” His hand trembled, and he threaded his fingers together to keep it still. “I just can’t figure it out. Why me?”

He once again threw her off balance with his bluntness. Part of her wanted to recoil into herself like a turtle in its shell, to spurn him and slink off into the night. If it was anyone else, she would’ve done so. But something about the look in his round, blue eyes as he stared at her drew the truth out of her.

“I’m obsessed with you,” she whispered in a hushed tone. “I think about you all the time. I can’t get you out of my head. You have this weird effect on me. It’s never happened before with anyone else.” He continued to stare at her, speechless, and her face started to burn like it was on fire. “If you don’t say you feel the same way, I think I might die,” she confessed with a forced laugh.

He shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve wanted to find you for so long. Now that you’re finally here, I...” he trailed off and looked down. His hand was slowly creeping towards hers, inches away from feeling her skin, and she held her breath.

The sudden force field that had surrounded them dissipated as a piercing squawk filled the air. Their heads whipped around to see a green parakeet flitting around the inside of its cage and flapping its wings. Siren grimaced. “What is that?”

“Oh, it’s just my bird Sunshine.” He walked over to the cage and furrowed his brow. “Strange. She never acts like this.”

The interruption allowed her to break out of the trance she had entered and raise her lowered defenses. “I hate animals,” she muttered under her breath, avoiding his gaze. She threw her head back and downed the rest of her drink in one gulp. She slammed the glass back down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Thanks for the drink, but I’ve gotta run. Murders don’t just commit themselves, you know.”

His eyes grew to the size of saucers, and he shot out a hand to stop her. “Wait, don’t go! Not just yet, please!”

She dashed over to the window. “It was nice talking to you one-on-one!” she called over her shoulder. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Siren!” he yelled, but it was too late. She undid the latches on the window and pushed it up far enough to duck under. She swung one leg over the ledge, and by the time he made it over to her, she made her escape. She narrowly avoided his grasp and flung herself into the dark shroud of night, a smile on her face so bright it could rival the moon and the stars themselves.


	14. Kiss of a Siren

Malcolm walked into the station the next day, and instead of reporting to one of the conference rooms like he was supposed to, he pounced on the first police officer he came across.

“Have you seen Gil?” he blurted, urgency and impatience evident in his tone. “Do you know where he is?” His eyes were wide and frantic, searching around him for any sign of the older detective.

“Um, I think I saw him and the others going to the morgue,” the poor officer stuttered, clearly off-putted and shrinking into herself.

He hurriedly thanked her before racing towards the morgue, papers flying off desks around him from the wind his speed generated. People looked up from their paperwork or the conversations they were having and turned to him, shooting him odd looks. He slowed to a stop at the double doors that stood between him and the morgue. He took a second to compose himself and catch his breath before pushing one of the doors open just enough to slip through.

He quietly peeked inside. He could hear voices coming from the other end of the morgue and looked over to see Gil, Dani, JT, and Edrisa crowded around Mario Castello’s dead body lying on one of the metal tables. The white sheet was pulled back to expose his upper half, and Siren’s kiss was still there, standing out even more now that his decomposing skin was gray and sunken. The stench of formaldehyde was thick, and they looked like they were listening to Edrisa finishing up her autopsy report. Malcolm lurked in the shadows where the fluorescent lights above didn’t reach, eavesdropping on them.

“Cause of death was confirmed to be strangulation as I had originally thought,” she read off of the clipboard in her gloved hands. “Once again, there wasn’t much of a struggle, little if any.”

“I don’t get it.” JT scratched his chin. “Mario was an important figure in the world of organized crime. He must’ve been heavily guarded. How did Siren get close enough to kill him?”

“Because she knew Mario and his men would underestimate her.” Malcolm chose this moment to step into the light, and their heads all whipped around to look at him. “They didn’t expect a waitress at his restaurant to be a threat. She relied on their ignorance to corner him.”

Gil drew his brows together. “Bright, I thought I put you on a new case. You shouldn’t be here.”

He charged towards them. “I know, I know I shouldn’t, but you guys need me, now more than ever.”

Gil gritted his teeth. “We’ve been over this multiple times—”

“Siren showed up in my apartment last night,” he cut him off, resulting in a mixture of shocked and scared reactions from the group. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“What?” Dani stepped closer to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he assured her.

“Why didn’t you call us?” Gil raged. His face was red, and Malcolm could practically see smoke fuming out of his ears. “Why did you wait until now to tell us?”

“Because by the time I even dialed your number, she would’ve been long gone,” he shot back. “Besides, she didn’t want to hurt me.” He shrugged.

“Not _yet_ ,” Gil interjected.

“So you just walked away from a conversation with the assassin you’ve been hunting unscathed?” JT scoffed, skeptical. “Yeah, that’s questionable.”

He turned on him. “Then how did I get this?” He pulled out the watch she had given him and showed it off.

JT’s face paled. “Is that—”

“Benjamin Phillips’s watch that went missing when he was murdered? Yeah.” He tucked it back in his suit jacket for safe keeping. “She gave it to me.”

From the look on JT’s face, he had convinced him, but Malcolm didn’t blame him for doubting his story in the first place. He could hardly believe it himself. After Siren had jumped out his window seconds before he would’ve finally had her in his grasp, he stuck his head out the window, but she was no where to be seen. It was like she had vanished with a puff of smoke. He spent the rest of the night sitting on the floor in a daze, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking himself back and forth while replaying their conversation on loop in his head. He had gripped the watch so tight in his fist he was surprised he hadn’t broken it and had traced the print her lipstick had left behind on the rim of her glass with the tip of his finger over and over, wondering if that was what her lips felt like. Even now, the glass was back in his apartment in the middle of the floor alone, unwashed and brandishing the mark like a peacock does its feathers. _Is it possible to be jealous of an inanimate object? Is that normal?_ Then again, nothing about him was normal these days.

“Do you know how inconsiderate that is? How much danger you put yourself in?” Gil seethed.

“I had to if I wanted to make any progress on this case,” he argued.

“This is not your case anymore!” Gil roared, his voice echoing off of the walls. JT, Dani, and Edrisa exchanged an awkward glance. A silence settled over the morgue that was stifling.

Malcolm swallowed roughly. “I know that,” he murmured in a soft tone contradictory to his. “Just, please, give me a chance. One last chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

Gil pierced him with his dark, unblinking eyes like he could stare straight into his soul. He crossed his arms over his chest and let out a long, slow sigh. “This is your last chance. That’s all you’re getting.” He grumbled, “I hope putting yourself in her crosshairs was worth it.”

He beamed like a little kid in a candy store. “Okay, so one of the first things I picked up on when talking to her was that she had an accent.” He maneuvered around the table with a skip in his step. “When we met, she had an American accent and she told me she was from somewhere far, far away. But this time, her voice was different. I’m willing to bet she’s from France, judging by her accent, and this is her first time visiting the United States, which means she has no prior record we have access to.”

“That’s why she’s so confident,” Dani agreed.

“So not only is she an assassin, she’s an international one at that.” JT frowned. “Great. This just keeps getting better and better.”

Gil still didn’t look sold. “Anything else new you learned about her?”

“She easily could’ve poisoned Castello’s drink, but she needs to be hands on with her victims.” It felt good to say all the things he’s been thinking out loud. “She’s turned her passion into a career.”

“Something you two have in common.” JT rolled his eyes.

He ignored his comment. “She’s a psychopath and manipulative. She lacks compassion and empathy for others. She views people as a means to an end.” He stared down at the stitches forming a Y-shape on the body’s chest. “These sutures are impeccable by the way.”

Edrisa’s eyes lit up, and she beamed at the compliment. “Why, thank you.”

“Bright, please remain focused,” Gil managed to get out through gritted teeth.

“Sorry. Sorry,” he apologized.

“Last time you talked to her, she gave you hints that helped us find Edward Prescott,” Dani said. “Did she say anything to you that could lead to whoever hired her to kill Mario Castello?”

He scrunched his forehead and chewed on his lower lip. He hadn’t really given that any thought. He was too wrapped up in dissecting and analyzing any crumb of information she gave him to better understand her mindset. Could there have been anything that stood out to him, anything that he had missed or glossed over?

_“I swear, some people can be so territorial. They want so badly to take what they believe is rightfully theirs, they don’t care who they have to step on on the way in order to get it.”_

His eyes grew to the size of saucers. “She said people can be territorial. That they’ll step on anyone to take what they think is theirs.” He stopped beside Gil. “What if a rival gang hired a hit on Mario Castello in order to throw his mob into turmoil? And while there was a shift power, they took control of his territory?”

From the slight raise of Gil’s eyebrows, he could tell he had impressed him. “I’ll have my guys look into if any of Castello’s property was acquiesced after his death.” He pointed a finger in Malcolm’s face. “And I’m getting a security detail on your apartment around the clock.”

His heart sunk to his stomach. “That’s really not necessary.”

“Well, unfortunately, it’s nonnegotiable.” He gave him a knowing look. “And you have to promise that the next time you think you’ve even seen a glimpse of Siren, you call me immediately, you understand?”

Malcolm bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t know when he would see Siren again (or if he would ever get to), but he knew that if he did, he couldn’t risk contacting Gil. He had to make the most of all the time he got with her. Gil would only ruin that. Regardless, the words “I promise,” flowed easily from his lips, even though they were empty.

Gil nodded once. “Good.” His gaze lingered on him a little longer than necessary, as if he was measuring the weight of his words in his mind, but ultimately decided not to push him any further. He started towards the door, and JT fell in step beside him.

Malcolm started after him. “So does this mean I’m back on the case?” He grinned eagerly.

Gil froze and looked at him over his shoulder. “I did say I’d give you one last chance, but don’t get too excited. One slip up, and that’s it. You’re done.”

He raised his hands in defense. “I hear you loud and clear.” Gil backed down, and he and JT pushed through the doors, leaving them to swing on their hinges.

Edrisa clapped her hands together, and the sudden sound nearly made him jump out of his skin. “Alright. Well.” She lifted the sheet and covered Mario’s top half from their view. “I gotta go put him back on ice. He gets shipped out to a cathedral tomorrow. I hope my funeral is anywhere near that nice.”

She pushed the edge of the table and wheeled the body out of the room. Dani moved closer so she was within earshot when she murmured, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He let out a breath, relieving all of the tension that had been wound up tight in his body. “Yes, Dani. I’m fine.”

She pursed her lips, seemingly unconvinced, but she didn’t press him any further. _Choose your battles wisely._ “This is weird, right? I mean, I’ve had my fair share of oddballs while working here, but none like her. She’s just so...”

“Bold?” he guessed, filling in the blanks. “Flamboyant?”

“I guess that’s one way of describing her.” She forced a laugh. “But for real, how many murderers actively help out the profiler who’s investigating her? What is she playing at here? What’s her endgame?”

“I think it’s just a source of entertainment for her.” He folded his arms over his chest. “She likes to watch us fail, and when she helps us out, it makes her feel superior.”

“Maybe. I think that’s part of it, but I’m not so sure.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “It’s like she has some unhealthy fascination with you. It scares me, Malcolm.”

“Don’t worry, Dani. I’m a big boy. I can handle myself,” he teased.

Her expression didn’t lighten up. “I mean it, Malcolm.” Her teeth scraped her bottom lip wearily. “Please, just tell me you’ll be careful, for my peace of mind.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder and stared straight into her eyes. “I’ll be careful. You don’t have to worry.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “One thing’s for sure. She’s not like any other assassin I’ve had the pleasure of chasing after.”

He nodded firmly. “Now that we can both agree on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gil: You have to promise.  
> Malcolm: I prom.  
> Gil: What’s that?  
> Malcolm: Half a promise.


	15. Shades of Cool

Fire.

Everything was on fire. All that he could see was set ablaze, and the crackle and pop of the flames roared in his ears like bombs going off. The piercing light of the fire seared his eyes, and the overwhelming heat beat down on him in waves. The air was thick and stifling, and with every intake of breath, he swallowed more handfuls of smoke and ash.

He couldn’t move. His arms were attached to the leather straps on his headboard, and every time he jerked forward, they yanked him back. He pulled against the straps with all his might, but they held strong. He thrashed his legs fruitlessly, kicking off his comforter and clawing at his sheets as the world was reduced to rubble around him.

Suddenly, a pair of hands wrapped around his ankles, and his body went still. Slowly, Siren rose to stand at the foot of his bed. She looked every part the seductress that he knew, but there was something off about her appearance. Her grin was a little too wide and ever-present. Her skin was ghastly pale, like she was a ghost, and instead of the usual spark her gray eyes captured, they were merely mirrors that reflected the burning embers around her.

“Malcolm,” she hissed like a snake. Her voice was her own, but it seemed distorted and disconnected from her body. It echoed all around him until he couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

He opened his mouth to ask her what was going on, but he choked on the black smoke filling his lungs. He sputtered, coughing up a puff of ash that dissipated into thin air. Her hands traveled up his legs, and his skin felt hot (and not from the flames). Her nails scratched against his skin like talons, leaving red lines of raised skin in their wake. Every muscle in his body tensed; he was too afraid to move an inch in case it scared her off and she would vanish again.

She crawled up his body and straddled his hips. He stared up at her, paralyzed as her hands ran up his chest. Her touch felt so real. He tugged against his restraints, his hands itching to touch her. Her smile seemed to grow even larger at that, if that was possible. “The world could be burning down around you, and still all you choose to focus on is me.” Her voice was taunting him, shaming him. Her hands stopped at his neck, curling around his throat and squeezing a little. A small squeak escaped his lips before he had the chance to stop it.

She chuckled, sending a shiver through him. “That would be too easy.” She rescinded him from her grip, and there were tiny, red marks in the shape of crescent moons embedded in his skin where she had dug her nails in a little too hard.

The fire crept closer, the imposing threat of drowning in its depths drawing ever nearer. She loomed over him, and his vision tunneled in on her until she was all he could see. Everything else around her faded into oblivion. She looked even more twisted and unhinged now. Her eyes were the color of the ash in the air, and her translucent skin resembled a corpse’s. She was dull and void, an empty husk, the mere shell of the woman he knew. She looked undead, resurrected, brought back to life, a zombie.

“Let’s face it, Malcolm.” She help up a pillow in his line of sight. “The fire would’ve gotten to you if I didn’t. And I wouldn’t allow it to steal my satisfaction at watching you die.”

The last thing he saw was her haunting grin before lowering the pillow over his face. His sight was swallowed in darkness, and the urge to fight back was reignited in him. He struggled, and the pressure on his head increased. It felt like there was a pair of disembodied hands holding him down. He tried to scream, but his voice came out muffled. His air supply waned, already depleted from the smoke he had inhaled and his pathetic attempts to break free, and his lungs gave up, collapsing in on themselves like a house of cards. His limbs went limp, and he fell lax under her, succumbing to the darkness.

-

His own scream jolted him awake. He lunged forward, the straps attached to his wrists the only thing holding him back from tumbling out of his bed. He gnashed his teeth together, and if it weren’t for the mouth guard in his mouth, he was sure he would’ve chomped his own tongue in two. His clothes clung to him from the light sheen of sweat covering his body, and his hair was tousled from tossing and turning in bed all night.

He spit his mouth guard out and gasped for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Eventually, his panting slowed, and his breathing evened out. Great. He had had another night terror, not that they were uncommon. No, he wasn’t surprised by them anymore and very much expected them. He just hated waking up from one on the day he was planning to talk to his shrink.

His hands fumbled as he undid the latches on his wrists. The cuffs fell away, and he massaged the red marks on his wrists. They were sore and raw from straining against the straps all night. His throat felt hoarse from screaming, and he reached for the glass of water he had left on his bedside table last night in case something like this happened. His hand was shaking as he brought it to his mouth, and he tried to still it as he drank generously.

Siren had infiltrated his night terrors since he had first met her, but she had started off in the peripheral of his vision, lurking in the shadows. Slowly, her presence in his dreams had grown until she was terrorizing him at night in addition to his waking hours. Sometimes, his dreams were like something straight out of a horror movie: chaos, death, being chased, being trapped. Other times, they bordered on eroticism, and she was just there, teasing him relentlessly (those were the only ones he regretted waking up in the middle of). This most recent night terror was also the most vivid. He felt like he could still smell the stench of scorched earth and feel her hands singe his skin. For a second, he considered the possibility of her breaking into his home again and that it hadn’t all been in his head, but Gil had made good on his promise, and now there was always someone standing guard outside his building even into the wee hours of the morning (he had checked in between fits of restless sleep). She was the star of the show now, and he was sure if the real her was aware of that fact, she would be smug about it and relish in his torture.

He got in the car to go see his shrink (again, his mother’s — she insisted in having him driven everywhere rather than wasting money on a cab or, God forbid, public transportation). He had just given the address to the driver and buckled his seatbelt when a voice beside him startled him.

“Boo!”

He nearly jumped out of his skin, and his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his ribcage. He looked over to see Siren sitting beside him, decidedly more normal looking than he had last seen her, with a hand clasped over her mouth to stifle her laughter. She peeled it away to reveal a shit-eating grin spread across her lips.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” She wiggled her fingers in a wave. “Hi, Malcolm. Long time, no see,” she joked.

He sighed and glanced at the driver in the front seat minding his own business and staring straight ahead out the windshield. “Siren, please go away,” he whispered in a tone quiet enough that the driver couldn’t hear. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

She held her hands up defensively. “Don’t look at me! _You’re_ the one who wants me to be here right now. Not me.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fine, let’s get this over with.” He shifted subtly in his seat to face her. “What do you want?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her bottom lip like a pouting child. “Do you really think complaining about your problems to a therapist is gonna make me go away? The only way you’re going to do that is if you find me, and you’re not any closer to doing that than you were the last time I visited you.”

“Technically, she’s a child shrink,” he corrected her.

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Even less reason for you to think this should work.”

He didn’t exactly know why he kept going back to Gabrielle either. Maybe it was just nice to have someone he knew generally well listen to the situations he was thrown in to unbiasedly. Or maybe it was the lollipops. “Well, it’s not like you’re helping. All you do is show up when I least expect you to and give me some cryptic message that leads me to the person who hired you.”

“And decoding those messages doesn’t stop me from committing another murder,” she pointed out.

“Well, then, why do you keep giving me them?” he fired back.

She threw her arms up in the air. “The hell if I know! I don’t know anymore than you do. I’m just a visual representation of your insecurities, fears, and frustrations harbored in your subconscious. I’m not some magic cure all or eight ball you can shake for answers.”

“Then why are you here?” he raised his voice a little too loudly, and the driver looked back at him in the rearview mirror, shooting him a questioning glance. Malcolm faked a cough to hopefully evade any suspicion that he was talking to someone who wasn’t really there and smiled at him. The driver focused back on the road, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

Malcolm looked over at Siren who had an amused smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Malcolm, I didn’t know I could get you riled up so easily,” she purred, folding her legs underneath her. “I adore this accent, by the way. It makes me want to just start spouting out random French phrases. _S’il vous plaît. Coup d’état. Où se trouve la station de métro la plus proche_?”

“Stop.” He eyed her nervously. “Shouldn’t you be wearing your seatbelt?”

She quirked a brow. “Why? In case I go flying through the windshield?” She chuckled. “You are so considerate, Malcolm, even of a hallucination that is all in your head.”

She crawled towards him across the bench on her hands and knees. He pressed himself flat against the side of the car, afraid that if he touched her, the illusion would be disbanded. She stopped when her fingertips were centimeters from grazing his thigh. She leaned in so close that their chests nearly pressed together and her lips hovered in front of his, and he could swear he caught a whiff of her jasmine perfume.

The car pulled over to the curb abruptly and shifted into park, jarring Malcolm back to reality. “We’re here, sir,” the driver announced, glimpsing him in the rearview mirror.

Malcolm looked at the seat next to him, but once again, Siren had disappeared. His body visibly relaxed. “Thank you.” He undid his seatbelt and stepped out of the car, closing it with a click behind him.

The door to Gabrielle’s office was open when he got there. He peeked his head into the doorway and rapped his knuckles against the door. “Gabrielle?”

The woman looked up at him from the notepad she was jotting down notes in. “Oh, Malcolm.” Her expression morphed from one of surprise to slight annoyance. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Am I intruding?” he asked, although he had already stepped into the room.

“No, no.” She waved him inside with a tight lipped smile. “Please, come in. Close the door behind you.”

He did as she said and took his usual chair across from her. She flipped to a new page in her note pad and held her pen firmly in her grip, poised at the ready. “How are you feeling today?”

He settled on a “Fine” because he felt like it accurately summed up all the tumultuous thoughts and feelings swirling inside his head. “You’ll be happy to know I got a full three hours of sleep last night.”

“A new record,” she acknowledged dryly.

He sighed. “Unfortunately, those three hours were dedicated to another night terror,” he said casually.

She perked up. “About your father?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You haven’t been visiting him again, have you?”

“No, I haven’t seen him in weeks,” he assured her. “I’ve been busy.”

“With what? A case for the NYPD?” she asked while scribbling something down. “You know how I feel about you working too hard.”

“Yes, you think I’m avoiding dealing with the trauma I endured as a child from my father by over involving myself in a case,” he recited what she had told him many times word for word. “You share the same opinion as my mother.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “Well, if your night terror wasn’t about your father, what was it about then?”

His face fell, and he grew serious. “It was different from the others. I was in my apartment, and everything was on fire. I was strapped to my bed, and there was this girl, and she was on top of me...” he trailed off when he saw her raise her eyebrows. “Not like that!” he quickly backtracked. “She was suffocating me with a pillow.” Which, now that he said it out loud, wasn’t exactly any better.

She slowly nodded, pursing her lips. “Was this girl someone you recognized?”

He nodded. “Yes, she was.”

She looked at him expectantly. “Who was she?”

“I... met her a few weeks ago,” he carefully chose his words. He felt like he was treading on dangerous ground. “At a bar. I liked her at first, but she didn’t turn out to be who I thought she was.”

She hummed. “Why not?”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “We don’t exactly see eye to eye on everything.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Well, it may sound strange, but often, our dreams are trying to tell us the things our conscious mind suppresses. As I see it, your nightmare can be interpreted one of two ways,” she explained. “Either it symbolizes your passion for the relationship you have with this girl,” she paused, “or, it’s trying to tell you that your involvement with her will destroy the entirety of your life before eventually suffocating you in the end.”

He blinked. “There’s a big disparity between those two.”

“Or it could be a mixture of both.” She calmly smiled at him. “Not everything is black and white, Malcolm. Most of the times, the world should be viewed in shades of gray.”

“So,” he tapped his fingers on the top of his thighs impatiently, “what do you think I should do?”

She shrugged. “I told you what your dream meant. Now it’s up to you to decide what to do next.”

His shoulders slumped. “It seems like nobody has the answers for me nowadays.”

“We can’t always rely on others to solve our problems for us, Malcolm,” she reminded him. “We have to fight our own battles. More often than that, we know what’s best for us in the end.”

He chewed on his lower lip. “Right.” As desperately as he wanted to believe her, his mind was in pieces, and he had no clue which piece to follow. Each piece seemed just as good as the next. He was lost. _Time is life’s universal solvent — the affirmation for the day._ “Well,” he slapped his hands against the arms of the chair and pushed himself to stand, “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Really?” She furrowed her brow. “You don’t want to talk about your father? Or the girl in the box?”

“Nope. I think I got what I came for.” He stepped over a stuffed giraffe and stuck his hand in the plastic bowl of Dum Dums on her desk. He grabbed a fistful and rescinded his hand from the bowl.

She continued to stare at him. “Somehow, I don’t think you believe that you’ll find the right answer all on your own.”

He picked the root beer lollipop from the bunch and unwrapped it. “I’m starting to think no solution is just as good as any.” He popped the sucker into his mouth. “Bye, Doc. Thanks for letting me drop by.”


	16. Tit for Tat

The building Siren was staying in on the East Side was originally built in the Roaring Twenties at the height of the era. It had undergone many renovations since to justify its expensive rates and keep its list of high end residents, but it still maintained a lot of its Art Deco appeal: rich hues, geometric shapes, ornate golden accents. It was modern, but not in the newfangled way that was all about clinical sterility and minimalism. It was classy and had a historical charm, the ideal place for her to reside.

Siren barely fit through the elevator doors with all the shopping bags stacked along the length of her arms. She squeezed through and stepped off the elevator onto her floor. The bags on her arms brushed the walls noisily as she walked down the hallway. She stopped in front of the door to her apartment. She juggled balancing the shopping bags while digging through her coat for the key. She jammed it into the lock and twisted it until she heard the telltale click. She grabbed the knob and pulled the door open, having to sidestep through the doorway in order to get inside.

She was immediately made aware of Aitch’s presence when she saw the older woman in the kitchen sitting at the dining table. “There you are!” She jumped out of her seat.

Siren barely spared her a glance. “Nice to know you had a copy of my key made.” She walked past her. “You at least could’ve left the door open for me.”

Aitch took a couple of steps after her. “Where have you been?”

She stopped in her tracks and spun around. “I took a little trip to Fifth Avenue.” She raised her arms, gesturing to the shopping bags hanging off. “It was about time I did a little exploring. And also, I was in dire need of a wardrobe update.”

Aitch shoved her hands in her pockets. “Shopping, Siren? Really?”

“What?” She walked over to the foot of her bed (the apartment had an open floor plan — not Siren’s first choice, but she made do) and dumped the heavy bags onto the floor. “Assassins are entitled to have lives of their own too, you know. Not many people know that. They think it’s all killing all the time.”

“Well, you’ve been a little too freewheeling lately.” There was an unfriendly edge to her voice.

Siren looked smug. “Whatever do you mean?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I know you’ve been seeing Bright again.”

“I’m keeping tabs on him. That’s all.” She innocently shrugged.

“Really? ‘Cause I caught word that the NYPD arrested Edward Prescott on the grounds of conspiracy to murder a couple weeks back, and now they’re sniffing around Castello’s property.” Aitch crossed her arms over her chest. “And it’s making me start to wonder if you’ve been feeding information to that sad sap of a profiler.”

She scoffed. “Do you hear how ridiculous you sound? Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” she challenged.

They stared at one another for a moment in silence, the look in each other’s eyes equally as intense. Eventually, Siren backed down from the standoff. “Listen, Malcolm is very smart. Anything he’s figured out so far, he did so on his own.” Her heels clicked against the wooden floor as she walked closer. “And even if I did tell him anything, it wouldn’t matter anyway. They still wouldn’t be able to find us.”

“That may be true, but word gets around, Siren,” she bit. “If the kind of people we deal with start hearing that the clients you work for are getting arrested, they’re not going to want to work with you. And if you have no client base, there’ll be no reason to stay in New York any longer.” She enunciated her last sentence clearly, “You’ll have to leave.”

The smirk that had been present on Siren’s face up to that point dropped as her heart sank to her stomach. The prospect of leaving, never seeing Malcolm again, made her feel physically sick. She couldn’t see herself going back to how things were before him: mindlessly taking orders, senselessly killing, spending her free time racking up receipts as long as phone numbers and drinking overpriced tea in pretentious coffee shops. Sure, she still did all those things, but they would lack meaning without him. She couldn’t imagine her life without him anymore.

Aitch could tell she had gotten her attention. “This is a give and take relationship, Siren. I put up with your antics, and you put up with following my orders to a T.” She circled her like a shark. “We need to be able to work together as a team in order to be successful.”

Siren frowned. “You know I work better on my own.”

“Not if you want to increase your likelihood of staying here longer.” She stopped beside her and leaned in until Siren could smell her fragrant perfume. “Got it?”

She cocked a hip and rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom,” she antagonized.

Aitch clasped her hands behind her back. “We should really start with that smart mouth of yours, but I don’t think we’ll ever have the time to correct that.” She walked over to the dining table. “Luckily, I’ve got the perfect opportunity for you to prove yourself.” She pushed a manila folder on the table closer to the edge.

Siren eyed her before slowly approaching the table. She picked up the folder as if she expected it to simultaneously combust the second she touched it. She flipped it open and was met with a photo of a sharply dressed man with slicked back hair and a strong jaw. He looked like your typical rich prick. “Nicholas Endicott?”

Aitch nodded. “Esteemed businessman, as well as in more... nefarious activities,” she hinted. “His second in line thinks it’s his time. I should warn you, though, he’s dangerous.” She pursed her lips. “He might be a hard target to kill.”

Siren’s smirk returned to her face. “Try me.” She closed the folder and tucked it under her arm. “What do you suggest?”

She leaned back against the edge of the table. “There’s an upcoming banquet his foundation the Nicholas Endicott Endowment for the Arts is hosting. You’re bound to find him there, and his guard will be more let down than if you caught him at work.”

“Well, you know I love a good challenge.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder.

Aitch sighed, exasperated. “Please, Siren. Stick to the basics for this one. Nothing flashy, nothing risky. Just a simple get in, kill him, get out.”

She stomped her foot. “Aw, come on!” she whined. “Where’s the fun in that?”

She shot her a stern, no-nonsense look. “I mean it, Siren. No messing around. You’ve already put our jobs on the line enough as it is. Do I have to spank you like a child?”

Siren held her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay.” A coy smile spread across her lips. “Besides, we both know I’m the one who does the spanking.” She winked and spun around on her heel. “Now, if you would _excusez-moi_ , I have some clothes to put away.”

A silence followed, and Siren thought she had left as she bent down to rifle through her bags until she heard her voice behind her. “Siren?”

She paused. “Are you still here?” Her irritation bled through in her tone. “Your lack of faith in me is atrociously appalling. I’m the last person you need to explain the logistics of murder to, you know.”

She looked over her shoulder, and Aitch was merely standing there, her gaze penetrating. “Why him?”

She blinked. Her question had rendered her speechless. If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t know why she kept putting herself in the line of fire for him or why she couldn’t just stay away. All she knew was that being around Malcolm gave her more of a thrill than even killing did. She saw something in him, something that reminded her of herself in a way. He made her crave for the unknown, a longing for something she couldn’t quite name. He unlocked parts of her she didn’t even know she had. It was terrifying, and absolutely exhilarating at the same time.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, “but there’s just something about him I can’t let go.” The corners of her lips lifted upwards into a small, secretive smile. “I can’t leave him alone.”


	17. One Girl, Many Names

It was raining.

It was the first rain of fall, in fact. It was the type that was so heavy you couldn’t see more than a good ten feet in front of you out of the car windshield and it sounded like bullets hitting the windows. The smell of rust and petrichor hung in the air, and the soles of Malcolm’s dress shoes were soaked through from the solid inch of water he walked through on the sidewalks.

The first thing he did when he got inside his mother’s home was shake the remaining water droplets clinging to his umbrella off. “Mother?” He closed it and propped it up in the umbrella stand by the door. “Mother, you wanted to speak to me?”

He peeked around the corner and saw his mother sitting in the living room with her back to him. She was talking to someone he couldn’t see as she was blocking his view of them. He tentatively stepped into the room. “Mother?” he called her attention to him.

She craned her neck to look at him over her shoulder, and her eyes lit up. “Malcolm, you always do intrude at the most inconvenient times.” She rose from her seat. “Malcolm, meet Vivian Lexington.”

She stepped out of the way and gestured to the person sitting in the chair across from hers. His heart stopped beating in his chest as Siren pushed her hands flat against the cushion to stand, a wide smile spread across her face. She was dressed head to toe in black, and the knee length dress she was wearing blended in with the old money world his mother lived in. She looked like herself, except a little less seductive and a little more reserved and conservative. Unfortunately for him, still just as breathtaking as ever.

He felt like he was glued to the floor, and his body seized up. All he could do was stare at her as fear coursed through his veins. His mother’s expression morphed into one of worry and concern the longer she watched him, and so he forced himself to stifle the shock evident on his face. He cleared his throat. “It’s nice to meet you.” He stepped forward and outstretched a hand to her.

She raised a brow. “Malcolm, you don’t remember me?” Her smile was teasing and coy now. She was playing with him.

When she made no move to grab his hand, he shamefully dropped his arm to his side. “I’m sorry... I... I’m afraid I don’t,” he hesitantly stuttered.

“We went to Harvard together. I was in the same psych class as you?” she said like she was trying to jog his memory. “I had quite the crush on you back then, but I’m sure you had lots of girls chasing after you.”

“If only,” his mother chirped, and he shot her a look.

He decided to go along with it. “Yes, it’s all coming back to me now.” He pointed at her. “You were particularly interested in the id of Freud’s model of the psyche.”

She merely smiled. “Well, I always found the ego’s ability to reign in our instinctual desires fascinating,” she replied suavely, not tripping over her words at all.

His mother watched their repartee like she had a front row seat to a ping pong match. “Look at you two.” She clapped her hands together. “Isn’t this little unexpected reunion nice?”

“Certainly.” He eyed Siren before turning his attention to his mother. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Oh, Vivian here is a philanthropist.” She put her hands on Siren’s shoulders, and every muscle in his body tensed. “She’s agreed to join me and Eve in the search for the girl in the box.”

“I love a good crusade,” Siren added with a cheeky smirk.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge. Whatever she wanted with the girl in the box couldn’t be good. “That’s great. The more, the merrier, right?” He forced a smile. “Anyway, you mentioned something about dry cleaning...”

His mother’s eyes went wide. “Oh, yes. I took one of your suits to the cleaner’s the other day and I wanted to get it back to you. Stay right here. I’ll go get it.” She gave him a knowing look. “You two continue to reminisce on your college days.”

She made herself scarce. The second she was gone, Siren dropped the pretense. “I absolutely adore your mom. She’s such a doll,” she gushed, her French accent creeping back in.

He gritted his teeth. “What are you doing here?” he snapped.

She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Keep your voice down, Malcolm. You don’t want Mommy Dearest to know that there’s an assassin in her home, do you?”

He huffed. She was right. He didn’t want to alarm her, especially after she had so easily convinced her she was someone else. “Are you threatening me?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I promise I’m not going to hurt your family, Malcolm. I mean no harm.”

“Then, let me ask you again.” His stance was hostile. “What are you doing here?”

She batted her lashes at him innocently. “Well, I had to meet the ‘rents sometime.” She perched on the arm of the chair and crossed her legs. “When do I get to meet the other one?”

He scoffed. “Trust me, you don’t want to.”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Malcolm. Everyone’s family is a little crazy,” she taunted.

“What about your family?” he challenged her.

She propped her chin up on her hand. “It’s cute when you try to psychoanalyze me. I thought about being a profiler once too, you know. I’ve always been exceptionally gifted at reading people.”

“Well, I’m sure killing people pays better,” he quipped.

“It was a rather definitive career choice,” she agreed. “I wanted to stop by your apartment, but I couldn’t help but notice you put new security measures in place. So I thought this was the next best place I had a chance of running into you at.”

He sighed. “That was all Gil’s idea. I thought it was a little overboard, but he insisted.”

She quirked a brow. “I’m assuming that means you’re back on the case?”

“My every move is being watched like a hawk, but thanks to you, yes.”

“Please, give yourself a little credit.” She dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand. “You have the sense to listen to me and the wits to figure out what I was trying to tell you. Most would’ve just turned me in by now to get ahead.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe I should.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Then why haven’t you?”

Any clever response died on his lips as he locked eyes with her. The twinkle in her gunmetal gray eyes as she stared up at him told him that she already knew perfectly well why he hadn’t. She just wanted to see if he had the guts to say it out loud. He felt like he was in limbo standing there, the pressure beating down on him. Just as he had gathered enough courage to open his mouth, his mother’s voice sounded from behind him.

“Got it.” He whirled around to see her triumphantly holding up a suit wrapped in plastic, her lips parted to reveal abnormally pearly white teeth.

He broke out of whatever spell Siren had cast on him and walked over to her. “Thank you, Mother.” He took the suit from her.

Siren rose to her feet and smoothed out the skirt of her dress with her hands. “I’m sorry to cut this short, Jessica, but I have another obligation I have to get to.” She slipped back into her American accent effortlessly. Malcolm felt like he was in the Twilight Zone hearing her refer to his mom by first name. “Is there a chance I’ll see you at Endicott’s banquet coming up?”

Malcolm furrowed his brow. That was odd. He wondered if this was just a part of her cover or not. “No, I’m afraid I don’t attend social events like that anymore.” She laughed awkwardly.

Siren pursed her lips. “What a shame. Well, we’ll be in touch.”

She started for the door, but Malcolm blocked her path. “Allow me to walk you out,” he offered, his tone a little hurried. He was desperate to keep her within his grasp for just a little bit longer.

Behind Siren, his mother wiggled her eyebrows at him suggestively. He suppressed an eye roll and ignored her. Siren’s lips curled into a large grin. “Of course.”

She held out her arm, and he looped his through hers. He escorted her out of the living room, his mother’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head the entire time from the intensity of her gaze. When he turned the corner and they were out of view, relief flooded over him that their little ruse had worked and he didn’t need to put up a front anymore.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Siren drawled in her familiar dulcet tones. “You’re such a gentleman. It’s a mystery how you’re still single.”

“Well, most people don’t find the whole serial killer Dad thing attractive.” He stepped away from her to grab his umbrella.

“Really? I thought that would just make you even more appealing. You know, the whole savior complex and fixing the broken thing. I never really understood it, but I guess it’s just not for me.” Suddenly, her jaw clenched. “What about that girl you work with? The detective?”

“Dani?” He laughed, shaking his head vigorously. “She’s not into me. And she has a girlfriend.”

“Oh.” She brushed a stray strand of jet black hair out of her face. “Well, what about the mortician, Edrisa?”

He held the door open for her. “She’s just a friend.”

She stepped through, quirking a brow. “Famous last words.”

“I mean it.” He let the door close behind him. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Who says I was worried?” she posed.

He didn’t say a thing. There was still a torrential downpour that painted New York City in shades of gray around them. Malcolm opened his umbrella and held it above her head. She thanked him, and they walked down the front steps together. She didn’t slow her paces even in her heels with the rain pelting the concrete.

“I’m guessing neither Gil nor JT have caught your eye?” she asked.

“Gross. No.” He tried to wipe the thought of him being romantically involved with either of them out of his mind. “But I appreciate your open-mindedness.”

“Hey, I don’t judge.” They made their way to the edge of the sidewalk, Malcolm struggling to keep up with her long strides. “This is me.”

A cherry red Bugatti matching the color of her lipstick was parked at the curb. It looked brand new; its surface was glossy and shiny. It was extremely sleek, and yet had a classic charm to it. _Just like her,_ he absentmindedly noted.

“Wow.” He stuffed his free hand in the pocket of his pants and whistled.

“I know. Thought I’d put my money to good use and cruise around the city in style.” She jingled her car keys in one hand. “Besides, can you imagine me on a subway?”

He couldn’t. “It beats my mother’s SUV.” He openly admired the car.

“You should talk to her about upgrading. Treat yourself to a sports car.” She patted his cheek. His skin stung, but not from the impact. “Until we meet again?”

She stepped out from the cover of the umbrella, but remained unfazed by the incessant rain. There was something nagging him as he watched her walk around the front of her car, something unsettling deep in his gut. He looked up at her from the shelter of his umbrella. “You didn’t ask me about Eve.”

She opened the door to the driver’s seat and paused at the sound of his voice. Her hair was already matted with rain, and raindrops dripped off of the curve of her eyelashes, streaming down her cheeks like tears. She smirked. “I didn’t have to.”

With that, she climbed into her car. A second later, the engine revved with a roaring rumble that rivaled the pitter-patter of the rain. She sped off down the street, leaving him in such a daze that it didn’t even cross his mind to check the license plate until it was too late.


	18. Master of Disguise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven’t updated in a bit. Things have been stressful. I promise I haven’t given up on this though!

Malcolm leaned against the edge of the table, scratching his chin as he stared at the board. It was visibly more filled out than it had been before. In addition to the photos of Benjamin Phillips’s dead body, there were also several of Mario Castello and the resulting crime scenes for both. Witness statements were put up there, along with all they could gather about Edward Prescott and the sketch of Siren’s face. But none of it amounted to anything. Sure, he could see an obvious pattern emerge, but it didn’t lead anywhere. There was no conclusion. Despite everything he had learned about her, he still had no idea what the next step was.

He felt someone hop up to sit on the table next to him and he snapped his head, ready to chew out Siren for bothering him again, when he was met with Dani’s coffee brown eyes instead. “Dani,” he murmured in shock.

She lifted a brow. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No, I was just...” he trailed off and vigorously shook his head. “Never mind.”

She gave him an odd look. “Okay, you’re acting weird.”

He chewed on his lip as he stared straight ahead at the board. “I’m always acting weird.”

“Yeah, but weirder than normal.” When he didn’t respond, she leaned forward and waved a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Is Malcolm home?” He blinked rapidly, and she dropped her arm at her side. “What happened? Did Siren do something?”

He scratched his chin. “No, I just...” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I really hope Gil has something for us, otherwise I have no clue where to take this case next.”

“Hey.” She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and the corners of her lips lifted into a small smile. “We’re not gonna stop until we find her, okay?”

He mirrored her smile and nodded. Just then, Gil marched into the room, JT in tow. Malcolm perked up at the sight of him like an excited dog wagging its tail. “Any progress with the Castellos’ property?”

“You were right.” He crossed to the other side of the room. “A prominent rival gang the Romeros started taking control of their territory after Mario’s death. We had their leader Enzo Romero brought in for questioning.”

“And?” Malcolm pushed off of the desk and stood up. “What did he say?”

Gil pressed his lips together in a straight line. “Same thing as before. He met with a woman in a public space. Transferred two payments of a hundred thousand dollars to an account that has since been deactivated. Unfortunately, Enzo has a lot of connections in the department, so we had to let him go before we could ask him anything further.”

His face fell. “So it’s a dead end.” He threw his hands up in the air and collapsed into a nearby chair, hanging his head and sinking further into the seat.

“So that’s it?” Dani spoke up for him. “We just sir here and wait until she kills again?”

“Unless you can predict who she’s going to kill next, we’re out of other options.” Gil settled his hands on his hips. “Trust me, Bright. I’m just as frustrated as you are.”

Suddenly, his head shot up as if a light bulb had gone on. “What if we can?”

“Can do what?” JT prompted him.

“What if I can predict who her next target will be?” He jumped out of his chair, sending it rolling backwards with the force of his motion. “She mentioned an upcoming banquet the Nicholas Endicott Endowment for the Arts is hosting.”

“What? When?” Gil furrowed his brow.

He sank his teeth into his lower lip. “I... may have run into her again.”

Gil’s eyes grew so wide, Malcolm was afraid they would pop out of their sockets. “What did I tell you, Bright? You were supposed to call me!” His hands clenched into fists as his sides. “When was this? Where were you?”

He bit his thumbnail nervously. As badly as he wanted to, he couldn’t tell Gil about seeing Siren in his mother’s house. That would put them too much at risk. He didn’t know what Siren was capable of, but he wouldn’t put it past her to hurt his family if he tipped Gil off. Even if Gil got there first, who was to say Siren wouldn’t evade his security measures if she really put her mind to it? No, there was too much riding on this. She hadn’t done any damage to his family so far, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“That’s not important.” He dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “I’m willing to bet that I can figure out where she’s going to strike next and who her victim will be. But we’ll be able to get to him first.”

Gil pointed a stern finger at him. “We are coming back to this, Bright. Don’t think I’ll forget.” He huffed. “What do you got?”

He walked around the table. “I think she’s going after Nicholas Endicott.”

“Who would want Endicott dead?” Dani crossed her arms.

JT scoffed from the corner. “Who wouldn’t?”

Siren’s words echoed in his mind as if she was whispering directly into his ear. _You have the sense to listen to me and the wits to figure out what I was trying to tell you. Most would’ve just turned me in by now to get ahead._ “She said something about turning people in to get ahead.” He paced back and forth at the front of the room. “What if someone wanted Endicott killed so they could take control of his company?” He stopped in his tracks. “Whose next in line if Endicott suddenly died?”

“That would be James Linton, his right hand man and cofounder,” JT said, and the rest of the group turned to look at him quizzically. “What?” He shrugged sheepishly. “ _Time_ did a spread on him last year for their top twenty most influential businessman in the country issue. It was interesting.”

“Right. Moving on...” Malcolm refocused. “We need to find him immediately.”

“And someone needs to let Endicott know he’s got a target on his back,” JT added.

“No.” He held out a hand. “Not yet.”

“Bright, why not?” Gil asked.

“Because we can’t risk any chance of him calling off the banquet. That’s our only hope of drawing Siren out of hiding.”

“And what makes you so sure she’ll go after Endicott at the banquet?” Dani probed.

“He’s guaranteed to be there. There’ll be a lot of people he doesn’t know, so she can slip inside unnoticed. It’ll be crowded, and a lot will be going on, so she’ll be able to sneak him away easily and go in for the kill.” He gesticulated as he explained. “It’s the prime location for her to make a move.”

Dani cocked a hip. “You’re willing to put Endicott in danger on the off chance that we catch her before she gets to him.”

“He won’t be in danger.” He grinned smugly. “Because we’ll be there.”

“I think you mean _we’ll_ be there,” Gil corrected, gesturing to Dani, JT, and himself. “ _You’re_ not going anywhere.”

Malcolm’s jaw dropped. “What?” he exclaimed. “Why?”

“Because frankly, Bright, you’re a liability.” There was a sharpness to his tone. “It’s imperative that we do everything by the book if we want to do this right, and you improvise a little too much for my liking.”

“But I get results,” Malcolm argued. However, Gil remained unconvinced. “Look, you need me. Siren is a master of disguise. She could look like anyone, and I’m the only one of us who has seen her in the flesh.”

Dani pursed her lips. “You’re confident in your ability to recognize her?”

He gave her a firm nod. “One hundred percent.” He would be able to know her anywhere. Even in total darkness, even if he was blindfolded, all he would need is the sweet melody of her voice, the sound of her footsteps, or the scent of her jasmine perfume, and there would be no doubt in his mind. He would be able to tell it was her by the beating of her heart alone.

Dani looked to Gil with pleading eyes, and Malcolm watched as his resolve slowly crumbled. “Fine,” he gave in, and Malcolm resisted the urge to jump up and down and pump his fists in the air. Gil shot him a pointed look. “But you do everything I say exactly as I say it from here on out, okay?”

He flashed him a bright smile and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. “You got it!”

JT rolled his eyes. “Keep it in your pants, Sherlock Holmes,” he taunted.

Malcolm ignored his comment, and Dani distracted him from replying further when she asked, “Why would she deliberately tell you where and who she was going to kill next?”

He scratched his chin. “I think she’s trying to test me. She thinks I’m smart, and this is her way of proving it.”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t this sound like a trap to anyone else?” she looked around her at the group, surveying their expressions. “I feel like it’s too good to be true. It seems like a set up.”

He grimaced. “I’m not saying there’s not a slight possibility it is. But this is our best shot at catching her in the act. We have to be prepared for whatever she throws our way.”

“I’ll start making arrangements to get us into the banquet,” Gil said.

“Hey, maybe Trust Fund Baby over here can teach us which fork to use when eating a salad.” JT smirked at his own joke.

Malcolm laughed dryly. “Before I do that, I think we should get you a good pair of dress shoes first.”

The detective glanced down at his feet before looking back up at Malcom, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Low blow, Bright. Literally.”


	19. Likewise

When the door to Malcolm’s apartment closed shut behind him, he leaned back against it and let out a sigh of relief. After the day’s events, it would be nice to have a couple of much-needed hours to himself. He shrugged off his suit jacket, but he didn’t make it more than two steps into his apartment before Siren popped up on his sofa.

“Look who’s home!” she exclaimed. She folded her arms over the back of the couch. “How was work?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sure you already know.” He walked past her to the bar and dropped his jacket on the floor. His mother would have to take his suit back to the cleaners sooner than usual if he kept up this reckless treatment. If she were here right now, she would have chided him for such carelessness.

Siren raised a brow. “Somebody’s in a good mood.” She propped her chin up with her hand. “Please, do tell.”

“Don’t you know why already? You know, being in my head and all?” He reached for the bottle of whiskey he kept stashed under the bar. He hadn’t it touched it since the last time Siren had actually been here, but now seemed as good a time as any.

“Well, of course,” she rolled her eyes, “but the whole reason I’m here is so that you can say the things you’re thinking out loud.”

He screwed the cap off of the bottle. “Fine. If you really want me to say it, I know who your next target is, and I know exactly where and when you’re going to try to kill him.” He grinned smugly.

She pressed her hands flat against the couch cushions to push herself to her feet. “And you’re absolutely positive I’m going to be there?”

“If I’m being honest, you weren’t exactly subtle.” He took a swig directly from the bottle, wincing as the alcohol stung his throat on its way down.

“I’m sorry for doubting your ability, but you’ve had me in your sights twice before, Malcolm. What makes this time any different?” She strutted towards him with a confident sway in her hips.

“Because this time, I’ll have Gil, Dani, and JT with me.” He gestured with the bottle still in his hand, the liquid sloshing around inside.

“And you honestly think they’re any more capable at catching me than you are?” She scoffed.

“Stop.” He gritted his teeth. “We will find you, and we will catch you before you can kill Endicott,” he stated firmly, but he knew he was just trying to reassure himself.

She folded her arms over her chest and cocked a hip. “And then what?”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“You find me, you catch me, you arrest me. I go to prison, and you never have to see me again.” She walked around the bar to stand in front of him. “Are you sure that’s what you really want?”

His clenched jaw ticked. “Of course,” he said, but neither of them seemed convinced by his words. He lifted the bottle to his lips again to distract himself.

She leaned against the bar. “I thought you weren’t supposed to drink while taking medication?” Her lips curled into a teasing smirk. “Be careful, Malcolm. You might start seeing things that aren’t really there.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, and right as he opened his mouth to respond, the receiver box on his wall started to ring. He looked over her shoulder as a voice emitted from the receiver. “Hi, Malcolm. This is Eve.” Her voice sounded grainy due to the speaker, but still sounded light and sweet.

He looked back to where Siren had been standing, but she was no longer there. Apparently, Eve’s interruption had done the trick. He tried to shake off the lasting affects of their encounter and walked over to the receiver as she continued, “I’m sorry for bothering you. I know it’s late, but your mom said she left some paperwork here the other day, and she wanted me to grab it on my way over.”

He stopped by the receiver, and his thumb hovered over the button to let her in. Eventually, he pressed it and ran a hand through his tousled hair. While he waited for her to come up, he hastily hid the bottle of whiskey, ignoring that some of it spilled onto the floor, and paced back and forth in front of the door.

When a knock sounded on the other side, he lunged forward a little too eagerly. His fingers wrapped around the doorknob, and he realized he probably opened the door a little too soon when he saw the surprised look in her eyes. “Malcolm. Hi.” She smiled.

“Hey.” He stared at her for a moment before stepping to the side, holding the door open for her. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” She walked inside. “Sorry again for bothering you so late.”

He closed the door after her. “Oh, no. It’s okay. I wasn’t doing anything anyway.” He dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand.

“Right.” They blinked at each other, shifting weight from one foot to the other. She fidgeted with her hands and bit her lip. “So, the paperwork...”

“Oh, yeah. It’s just over here.” He moved past her to the dining room, internally kicking himself for being so spacey.

She looked around innocently. “You have a nice place.”

“Thanks. I apologize for the mess. I’ve been pretty busy lately.” He scratched the back of his neck. His apartment wasn’t the tidiest at the moment. There were dirty dishes piled up in the sink and clothes haphazardly thrown across the floor by his bed. “I hope the security didn’t give you any trouble on your way up.”

“Yeah. What was that all about?” She laughed slightly.

“I’m... working on a high profile case right now, and they’re taking some safety precautions.” He chose his words carefully.

Her eyes lit up with genuine curiosity. “That sounds serious.”

He chuckled. “It’s less severe than it sounds.” He shuffled through the clutter scattered atop the dining room table before coming across the stack of papers she was referring to. “Here it is.” He gripped the stack in both hands and picked it up, surprised by its weight. “Be careful. It’s heavier than it looks.” He walked back over to her and held it out to her.

She laughed. “Thanks.” She took the stack from him and slipped it into the messenger bag slung over her shoulder. He picked at his nails. “Can I get you something to drink?” He gestured to the bar. “No, that’s okay.” She looked up at him, and her brows knitted together. “Malcolm, I know we don’t know each other that well, but, if you don’t mind me saying... you don’t seem like you’re doing okay.”

He released a breath and gave her a tired smile. “What gave it away?”

“You can tell me anything, Malcolm. I won’t judge you.” She locked eyes with him, and he couldn’t see any underlying ulterior motives in her gaze.

He took a seat on one of the barstools. “I’m just... dealing with a lot right now.”

“Is it the girl in the box? Is it your dad?” Her voice was soft, as if she was afraid someone besides them would hear her. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. It’s not them.” He bit his bottom lip. “I just thought I knew what I wanted, but now I’m not so sure. And now, I’m starting to think I might want something I can’t have.”

She didn’t press him to extrapolate further. From the look on her face, what he had said already resonated with her deeper than he realized it would. “I understand what you mean.”

He slapped his hands on his thighs, shaking off the sudden gloomy mood that had gripped him. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for my mother so far. I bet she’d go crazy without you.” He stood up.

She laughed lightheartedly. “I’m here for your family, but more importantly, Malcolm, I’m here for you.” She reached out, and her hand brushed against his. “You can trust me.”

There was such sincerity in her tone that he had no choice but to believe her. He glanced down as their fingers intertwined, and when he looked up, her gaze flickered down to his lips. She slowly leaned in, and her lips just barely grazed his. His eyes fluttered closed. The kiss was good. It was featherlight, and her lips were soft. But his thoughts couldn’t help but stray to Siren and the sultry curve of her scarlet lips and how they would feel against his own.

She pulled away, and when he opened his eyes, Siren was standing in Eve’s place. “What? You didn’t think I’d let you kiss anyone else but me, did you?” Her signature smirk graced her face, and before he could say anything, she covered his lips with hers again.

She deepened the kiss and lifted the hand that wasn’t holding his to cup his cheek. His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her closer to him. He wasn’t sure if this was real, or if he had fallen asleep and this was all just some perverted nightmare, but if it was the latter, he knew he didn’t want to wake up any time soon.

Eve was perfect. Too perfect. Too perfect for him, anyway. She would be good for him, he knew that. She was a safe bet, and he could rely on her. But all he would do is drag her down. There was a darkness in him, a darkness that had been there since he had discovered his father’s true nature and that Siren only seemed to amplify. Eve would want to cure that darkness, but Malcolm didn’t want to burden her. He couldn’t hurt her like that. And how could he kiss her knowing deep down he was wishing she was someone else?

He abruptly pulled away. “Stop.” He looked up, and Eve was back. “I can’t.” He avoided her gaze. “There’s... someone else. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

She blinked her large, round eyes at him, and her mouth formed the shape of a small ‘o.’ “Oh.”

His cheeks burned from embarrassment and shame. “I’m sorry, Eve.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears. “It’s okay, really.” She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “I should go. Your mother is probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”

“Right.” He wiped his clammy palms on his pants.

She made a beeline for the door, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. She opened the door, and his head shot up. “Eve?” he called. She paused in the doorway, her hand lingering on the doorknob. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for the next blow he would deal to her. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

The corners of her lips lifted into a sorrowful smile. “Likewise.” Then, she stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her.

Malcolm leaned back against the bar. He raked his hands through his hair, tugging on the ends so hard he swore he nearly tore tufts out. A voice he knew as well as his own sounded behind him. “Shame. I was enjoying that.”

He looked over his shoulder to see Siren at the other end of the bar, resting her cheek on her hand. “I guess it’s just you and me now, big boy.” A devious smirk spread across her lips. “You’re stuck with me.”

-

On the rooftop of the building across the street from Malcolm’s apartment was the real Siren, a pair of binoculars glued to her face. It turned out the big windows in his apartment were a blessing and a curse.

She finally tore the binoculars away and let them drop carelessly to the ground. She fell to her knees, the resulting pain from the concrete scratching her skin subdued. She had never felt like this before. It was like all of the energy had just been sucked out of her, and her heart was cleaved in two. An overwhelming tidal wave of sadness surged within her, and a single tear dripped down her cheek.

She had been the only witness to all of the events that had just transpired. She didn’t feel betrayed. She knew Malcolm cared more for her than he did for Eve; she had seen him reject her, after all. But she was upset that her hold on him wasn’t as strong as she had thought it was, how easily Eve had swept in and taken what was hers. How she had to keep her distance, meticulously plan their meetings, meanwhile Eve was free to do whatever she wanted, kiss whoever she wanted, while she was constrained.

She wiped away the tear as it fell with the back of her hand. Anger quickly replaced the sudden sadness that had consumed her. Her veins felt like they were filled with liquid fire, and every cell in her body was shaking with pure rage. Her expression contorted and twisted into a scowl. She had never felt anything so intensely until she had met Malcolm, and she would be damned if she let that slip out of her grasp.

She knew what she had to do.


	20. Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

It was odd seeing Dani, JT, and Gil all dressed up.

Malcolm had never seen them in anything other than their work clothes, because he had never really seen them outside of work, so seeing JT and Gil in black tie tuxedos and Dani in a floor length gown with makeup on and her hair all done up was a shock to say the at least. Their disguise was convincing enough. They blended in with the guests at Endicott’s banquet, and he had to admit, they cleaned up pretty well.

The banquet was held in a ballroom at an expensive hotel on the Upper East Side. A giant, crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room over the couples swirling and twirling around the dance floor. Waiters rushed around carrying silver platters of champagne flutes or appetizers and offering them to guests. The list of attendants included New York’s most elite, dressed in designer clothes and jewels that cost more than most people’s mortgages. It was the type of function where once a year, they all gathered and decided whether or not they should give back to the less fortunate, like they did anything more to deserve their riches than be born in the right family. It was utterly unappealing to Malcolm and one of the reasons why he left the whole socialite scene behind, although his mother still insisted on its presence somewhat remaining in his life.

“Alright.” Gil clapped his hands together, and they all gathered around him. “Let’s split up. We’ll cover more ground that way. Keep an eye on Endicott, and if you see anything suspicious, report it to us immediately.” He tapped his earpiece that was identical to theirs.

“And don’t let Endicott leave the room with anyone,” Malcolm added. “Siren will try to get him alone. We can’t let that happen.”

“Okay.” Gil gave a firm nod of his head. “Good luck.” They started to go their separate ways when he pointed a finger at Dani. “Dani, stick with Bright.”

Malcolm furrowed his brow. “What? I thought we were splitting up?”

He shrugged. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you on your own just yet. You’re still technically on your probationary period.” Before Malcolm could argue any further, he backed away and disappeared into the crowd.

Dani tapped him on the shoulder, earning his attention. “Come on.” She headed in the opposite direction, and he quickened his pace to catch up with her.

They patrolled around the perimeter of the room. They had yet to spot any sign of Siren or Endicott. One of the waiters passed by them holding a platter of flutes of champagne, and Malcolm reached out to grab one. Dani swatted his hand away before he could. “Ow!” he yelped.

“No drinking during work hours,” she scolded.

“Okay, okay. Message received.” He held his hands up in surrender.

Her nostrils flared before she faced forward. She continued walking straight ahead, and he adjusted his tie, falling instep beside her. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “You doing okay?”

He smoothed his hair back with his hand. “As okay as I can be. This is my first sting operation, after all.”

She didn’t seem convinced. “Are you sure that’s what’s really bothering you?”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek and contemplated on telling her. He was still recovering from rejecting Eve the other night, and now that he was bound to come face to face with Siren again, he didn’t know how to handle it. It was all a little too much for him right now.

“The other night...” he began tentatively. “A friend came over, and she kissed me.”

Dani’s eyebrows raised so high, he thought they would disappear under her hairline. “Really?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it really did happen.” He clasped his hands behind his back.

“I was more surprised that you have friends,” she teased.

He pressed a hand to his chest. “Harsh.”

“Kidding.” Her eyes flitted from side to side, constantly surveying their surroundings as she talked to him. “So was this kiss a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It was... a thing that happened.” He wrinkled his nose at his clumsy choice of words.

She laughed softly. “Sounds pretty ambivalent to me.”

“Well, as you can imagine, it’s been a while since someone who is aware that my father is an infamous serial killer has shown genuine interest in me.” He flashed her a small smile.

“You don’t get any crazy true crime fans chasing after you?” she jested.

He scoffed. “I try to actively avoid those communities as much as possible.”

“So I’m guessing you screwed it up?” she assumed bluntly.

He responded by biting his lip. He didn’t regret rejecting Eve. He knew it was the right thing to do. But he was scared of the implication that he might desire more than just to catch Siren, and the fact that she was most likely somewhere in this very room had his heart beating rapidly in his chest and his palms clammy.

“Hey.” Dani grabbed him by the elbow, earning his attention. “Don’t worry about it. If it’s meant to be, then it will be. If it’s not, it won’t. Okay?” There was a friendly warmth in her brown eyes that eased some of the adrenaline flowing through his veins. He gave her a reassuring nod of his head.

“Malcolm Whitly.” Both of their heads snapped forward to see Nicholas Endicott himself standing in their path. He looked put together in his freshly ironed Armani suit with his dark hair gelled back. “How long has it been?”

“A long time.” He forced a smile on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dani looking at him suspiciously. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too. How’s your mother? Still as stunning as ever?” He beamed, revealing two rows of perfectly straight teeth.

“She’s good,” he gave him the barest minimum for an answer. One person he hadn’t expected to talk to tonight was Endicott himself. He was hoping to keep more of a distance and observe him from afar until the time was right so he wouldn’t have to exchange familiarities.

“Good to hear. Make sure to say hi to her for me.” He shifted his gaze from Malcolm to Dani beside him. “Malcolm, don’t be rude. Introduce me to your friend.”

He gestured to Dani. “This is Dani Powell, my coworker.”

“Nicholas Endicott.” He held out a hand and gave her a charming smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She shook his hand and didn’t mirror his countenance, remaining stone faced. “I know who you are.”

“Right. I guess this is my banquet, after all.” He laughed, retracting his hand. “Speaking of, I didn’t think I’d have the pleasure of running into a Whitly here tonight, let alone the son of the family.”

“My mother sent me in her stead,” the made up excuse easily left his lips. “And I thought I’d bring Dani along as my plus one.”

“Well, I hope you’re enjoying the banquet so far.” He clapped a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder and shot Dani an apologetic look. “Dani, would you mind giving us a moment alone? Malcolm and I have some private business to discuss.”

Malcolm’s quizzical expression matched Dani’s. Whatever business Endicott was referring to, he had no idea about. Regardless, Dani said, “Of course,” and sent him one more questioning glance before turning around and walking away.

Endicott‘s arm slithered around Malcolm’s shoulders, and he steered him in the opposite direction. “Now that you’re here, I have to ask, how is your father doing?”

Alarm bells went off in his head. “Still the same as ever. Locked up in prison serving a life sentence.”

Endicott raised a brow. “You haven’t spoken to him recently?”

He shook his head. “If you don’t mind me asking, why the sudden interest in my father?”

“Well,” he tilted his head, “I’ve heard about your mother’s search for any information regarding this girl in the box who may or may not exist, and I can’t help but wonder what spurred her renewed curiosity.”

He shrugged. “My mother’s always had a bleeding heart.”

“I’m familiar.” Endicott nodded his head understandingly. “Along with a nagging guilt to pay for your father’s sins.” He stopped walking, his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder pulling him back. He moved to stand in front of him. “Next time you see your father, do you think you could deliver a message to him for me?”

Malcolm furrowed his brow. “I suppose.”

He leaned in close so only Malcolm could hear him say, “Tell him that I haven’t forgotten about him.” He pulled away with a look on his face as if he hadn’t said anything mildly threatening in the slightest and patted his shoulder. “Thank you, Malcolm. I really appreciate it.”

Endicott left, leaving Malcolm where he stood at the edge of the dance floor with his head spinning. Questions were racing through his head at a million miles per minute, but he forced his mind to focus on the task at hand. He looked around, searching for Dani, but with the amount of people inside the ballroom never staying in one place for too long, it was like an absurd Where’s Waldo?

“May I have this dance?”

A shiver went through Malcolm’s body, and before he even turned around, he knew who he would find standing behind him. Siren held out a gloved hand to him, looking rather like herself than in an elaborate disguise as he had presumed she would. Her jet black hair was pulled back into a bun, exposing the diamonds dangling from her earlobes. The black velvet gown she was wearing clung to her curves and brushed against the floor as she moved.

Malcolm subdued his surprise. “With pleasure.”

His hand slid against hers, and even though she was wearing crush velvet gloves that extended past her elbows, just the weight of her hand in his was enough to ignite his nerve endings. She led him to the dance floor and stopped abruptly, his front nearly bumping into her back. Her grip on his hand tightened as she lifted their arms to a right angle, and her other hand rested on his shoulder. His free arm slid around her waist and pulled her closer to him until their chests touched. They started to waltz until their pace matched the music, skillfully maneuvering around the floor along with the other couples.

“I didn’t know you were such a good dancer.” There was a look of sincere surprise on her face.

“I did ballet for five years. I showed great promise,” he admitted. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

She grinned. “Killing isn’t the only thing I’m good at, Malcolm.”

He took the lead and guided her around the floor with ease. His hold on her was strong as he supported her, spinning around in tandem with the other couples. She followed his lead, and they moved in sync with one another. She made dancing look effortless and graceful even in her constricting dress and held herself with trained poise.

She leaned closer to him to whisper in his ear. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” Her warm breath ghosted the shell of his ear. “Even when you’re looking for me, I find you first.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His whole body was on high alert at having her so close to him. “What makes you think I’m looking for you?”

She softly chuckled, and the sound ignited something inside of him. “Well, I’m guessing you’re not here to socialize. I know you better than that, Malcolm.”

He stepped back and lifted their connected hands above her head, twirling her in a circle underneath. He pulled her back to him so they were nose to nose, a small gap in between their lips. Their chests were pressed so close against each other that you couldn’t slide a piece of paper between their bodies.

“So I‘m guessing you got my hint?” she asked, but it took him a moment to comprehend her words. His brain was frazzled from having her within such close proximity to him.

“It wasn’t hard to figure out. You’re starting to get a little obvious.” They glided in a circle around the perimeter of the floor. “You’re dropping the ball.”

She cocked her head at him. “Maybe I’m worried you’re not as smart as I thought you were. Or maybe you’re smarter than I give you credit for.” Her lips were so close that if she moved even an inch, they would brush his. “Or maybe I just wanted to make sure you would be here.”

He mentally shook himself from the web she was trying to ensnare him in. “Whatever you’ve got planned, I would rethink it. We’ve got you surrounded.”

“You mean Gil, JT, and Dani, right?” He raised his brows, and she smirked at his surprised expression. “Did you really not think I would notice them? They stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this. You can always tell if someone actually has money by their shoes. For example,” she lowered her head to stare down at his dress shoes, “those Gucci loafers look nice on you.”

He wasn’t amused. “Siren, I’m begging you, stand down.” His eyes were wide and pleading. “Things are going to get ugly. They’re prepared to do anything they have to in order to stop you from getting to Endicott.”

She batted her lashes at him. “Malcolm, I appreciate the concern, but I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. Although I’ll admit, I’ve never had a face to face confrontation with the police before, what can a couple of detectives do to an assassin like me?” A mischievous grin spread across her lips. “Unless it’s not me you’re worried about but them.”

He swallowed roughly. “Turn yourself in while you still can. Or leave.” Urgency started to show through in his tone. “They don’t know you’re here yet. I’ll tell them you escaped or I messed up the place or something.”

Her brow slightly furrowed. “You would give up the biggest catch of your career just so I won’t start a fight with your little cop buddies? You would do that for me?” Her expression soured, and her lips contorted into a frown. “As touching and as heartfelt as that is, Malcolm, I don’t need your help.”

He locked eyes with her and gave her the most grave look he could muster. “Last chance, Siren. I mean it. I’m warning you.”

She pursed her lips. “I suppose the second we stop dancing you’ll have to inform them I’m here, huh?” He gave her a curt nod. She sighed, however still maintaining her regal posture. “Unfortunately, I’ve let you get in my way far too much already. I can’t let you stop me from killing Endicott too. So I say, bring it on.”

She leaned in, and for a second, his whole body tensed. He lost his footing, but smoothly recovered. He quickly regained his balance as she pressed her cheek against his. Her skin was cold in comparison. “Besides, I want you to see what I can do up close and personal. I’ll even let you watch.”

The music rose to a crescendo, and he could sense the dance coming to an end. He moved his arm around her waist up to support her back and dipped her. She threw her head back, striking a final pose as the orchestra concluded the song. She looked up at him, the light of the chandelier above making her eyes glimmer with something devious.

A titter of polite clapping filled the air from the people on the outskirts of the dance floor. Malcolm lifted Siren back to her feet, and she took a step away from him, finally putting some much needed space between their bodies. “Thank you for the dance, Malcolm.” She fisted the skirt of her dress at her sides and raised it as she sank into a mock curtsy. “I only wish it would’ve lasted longer.”

Nicholas Endicott passed behind her, and without even looking, her hand shot out and latched onto his arm. She spun around elegantly, sending the skirt of her dress flying, and faced him. She leaned in close as she whispered something Malcolm couldn’t hear to him, and his face lit up. He nodded, and they took up position as the orchestra started again. She shot one final secretive smile Malcolm’s way before he whisked her away across the dance floor.

Malcolm lifted his hand to his ear, his finger hovering by his earpiece. A mix of anger and anxiety simmered in his veins as he watched Siren and Endicott move in time to the music. He pressed down on his earpiece and spoke frantically, “Guys, I have eyes on the target. She’s going in for the kill.”

Gil’s voice crackled in his ear. “What? Where?”

“On the dance floor.” His voice rose a decibel with every word. “She’s dancing with Endicott.”

Gil, Dani, and JT popped out of the sea of guests surrounding the dance floor on different sides, their heads swiveling side to side in search of the culprit. Once they spotted her at the other end of the dance floor, they closed in on her. Malcolm burst into a sprint to keep up with them. He skidded to a halt behind them as they surrounded her.

“NYPD! You’re under arrest!” Gil shouted over the noise of the music. “Put your hands up!”

Siren and Endicott slowed to a stop, Endicott’s brows knitting together in confusion. Gil, Dani, and JT unholstered their guns and trained them on her, their stances threatening. Siren stepped away from Endicott, and he faded into the background with the other equally puzzled attendees. They backed away from the group in horror, giving them a wide girth. They clutched their pearls and openly gawked at the situation unfolding before them. The music abruptly ceased, and a pregnant pause ensued.

Siren raised her arms and offered them a sheepish grin. “Parlay?”

Gil, Dani, and JT took cautious steps towards her, their expressions stone cold. For a moment, time stood still, and the next, Siren brought her arms down, knocking the guns out of JT and Danis’ hands. She leaned to the side, narrowly dodging the bullet Gil fired at her. Her head snapped to look at him, and a satisfied smirk spread across her lips when his face fell. She reached out and grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back. She squeezed so hard on his wrist that his fingers relaxed and his gun slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor loudly. She pressed a hand to the middle of his back and pushed him away from her. He landed on his hands and knees, catching himself before he could sprawl across the floor.

In a flash, she bent over and grabbed the hem of her dress. With a strong tug, she tore a slit in the side of her dress that went all the way up to her mid thigh, exposing the smooth skin of her right leg. She stood up just as JT wrapped his arms around her. As he lifted her off of her feet, she used his leverage to kick Dani in the stomach. Dani yelped and recoiled. Siren threw her head back, smashing the base of her skull into his forehead. He grunted and dropped her, clutching his head as he stumbled backwards. She landed smoothly on her feet like a cat. She bolted through the space she had created between Dani and Gil, slithering through the stunned crowd.

Gil and Dani recovered from their injuries and chased after her. She plucked her Louboutins off of her feet without fumbling or missing a step, hurling them at the detectives on her tail. They ducked out of the way, and the red-bottomed shoes sailed through the air before tumbling to the floor. Siren hopped up on a table effortlessly, eliciting gasps from the crowd. She landed a solid kick to Dani’s face as she approached. She hit her square in the nose, and blood spewed from her nostrils, dripping down her face. She clamped her nose between her thumb and forefinger to stem the bleeding. Siren snatched an empty platter out of a nearby waiter’s hand and smacked Gil in the face with it. He covered the impacted area with his hand and staggered back. Siren jumped off of the table and continued her escape.

JT scrambled for one of the discarded guns on the floor. He rose to his feet and cocked the trigger, aiming the gun at Siren’s retreating figure. Every muscle in Malcolm’s body tensed. He had a clear shot. His grip tightened on the trigger, and without thinking through what he was going to do next, Malcolm pretended to trip and threw himself full force at JT.

JT squeezed the trigger just as Malcolm knocked him off balance, and the sound of a shot being fired echoed in the gigantic ballroom. Malcolm landed on top of JT with a hard thud, but his eyes were glued to Siren. He expected her to pause, to clutch her chest in agony as blood spilled between her fingers. But the bullet must’ve missed her completely, because at the sound of the shot, she looked over her shoulder. Her eyes found Malcolm’s, and she gave him a knowing smirk before taking off like a shot.

JT groaned in pain underneath him. “Watch where you’re going, Bright,” he grumbled. He pressed his hands against his smaller form to push him off. “Do you mind?”

“Sorry,” Malcolm mumbled before scrambling to his feet. He shoved his way through the crowd now frenzied with panic unapologetically and chased after her out of the ballroom. He stood at the top of the grand staircase in the lobby of the hotel just as Siren pushed through the glass double doors. He rushed down the stairs, taking them two at a time and running his hand along the banister as he descended. He skipped the last step and ran through the doors before they even had time to close.

A burst of cold fall air hit him as he stepped outside. The loud rev of an engine made his head turn, and he watched as Siren’s red Bugatti drove down the street at an alarming pace. He started to sprint after the car, his chest tightening at overexerting himself, but he was no match for the car’s speed. He slowed to a stop and hunched over with his hands on his knees, catching his breath as he stared down at the tire tracks left in the car’s wake.

He heard footsteps behind him and whirled around to see Gil, JT, and Dani catching up with him, looking worse for wear. “Where is she?” Gil asked, an aggressive edge to his tone and a wild look in his eyes. “Where did she go?”

He stared off in the direction her car left even though she was long gone. All that was left of her was a pair of shoes littered on the floor of the ballroom like some sort of twisted version of Cinderella. He took a breath and whispered, “She got away.”


	21. Toe the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm not dead, I just took a long break from this story. But now that season two is out, I'm back!
> 
> This chapter isn't edited, but I wanted to get it out as soon as possible for you all. Hopefully you enjoy it!

Siren was waiting for Malcolm the next morning when he woke up.

Not the real Siren, of course. He could tell the difference between the two of them now. His hallucination of her was perfect. Not that the real Siren _wasn’t_ perfect, at least, from a physical aspect, but this one possessed her beauty and amped it up to a hundred: flawless, unmarred skin like marble; silver eyes sparkling like two diamonds encapsulated by a perfectly sculpted face; plump, cherry red lips, utterly and unfairly tempting, which made him all the more disappointed knowing he could never taste them. It was like all the fantasies and dreams he had concocted come to life, like a mirage of an oasis to a starving man in the middle of a barren desert.

Her honeyed voice was buttery and silky when she spoke. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

He blinked and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, but she was still there. He groggily sat up, every bone in his body aching and every muscle sore. He had barely gotten any sleep last night. He had been up with Gil, Dani, and JT until the wee hours of the morning, scouring the crime scene for evidence. Of course, it had been squeaky clean, and they had found nothing but the red-bottomed stilettos she had left behind, and they were useless. Regardless, they had been taken in and locked away in the evidence locker, although Malcolm had had half the mind to convince the officers to give the shoes to him for “profiling purposes” or whatever half baked excuse he could’ve come up with. He really just wanted them as a reminder that she had really been there and it wasn’t just another night terror (or dream, depending what perspective he chose to view it through).

“It’s about time. You’ve kept me waiting long enough.” The way she glided towards the foot of his bed had him questioning whether or not he was still dreaming. The edges of her form were hazy like she was a hologram that might flicker and fade at any moment.

“Now you know how it feels,” he grumbled, his voice still gruff with sleep.

"I know what you're planning on doing today." She sat down on the edge of the bed, just a foot away from him or so. He was hyperaware of the closeness. "You're going to go see your father."

He pressed his hands against the mattress and pushed off the bed to stand. "Well, it's not like I have much of a choice. We've run into another dead end."

"And who's fault was that?" Her scarlet lips curled into a smile. "Surely, you don't blame me."

He scoffed. "Who else?" He started to get dressed. "Sure, we could've done a better job of not letting you slip through our fingers-"

"Uh-uh. Not 'we,'" she cut him off, standing up and blocking his path. "You." She jabbed a finger at him, millimeters from grazing his bare chest. "You're the one who let me get away. JT had his gun trained right on me, but you stopped him."

"Well, you're a lot more valuable to us alive than dead," he pointed out.

"But am I?" She took a step closer to him, her imaginary heel clicking against the wood floor, until their chests were almost flush against each other. "I can see through all your excuses, Malcom, so you might as well save them for someone else. I'm up here, remember?" She tapped her manicured nail against her temple. Her lips pulled back into a menacing grin, baring her teeth like a predator. "You care about me too much to watch me get hurt."

He swallowed hard. "'Care' is a strong word," he tried to sound unfazed.

Her grin didn't waver. She stepped back, and he finally felt like he had room to breathe. "Call it what you want: love, infatuation, obsession. But it's true. You love this game of cat and mouse and you don't want it to end." She batted her lashes at him. "It's kind of sweet, actually," she cooed.

He shrugged on his white dress shirt, buttoning it up as fast as he could (and probably missing a few buttons in the process). He draped his tie loose around his neck; he could finish tying it in the car. "Right, well, I'm off to visit Dad." He grabbed his suit jacket slung over the back of his chair and headed towards the exit. He stopped and looked back at her over his shoulder. "Unless, of course, you would like to come along?"

"That's alright. I'll wait here." She perched on the arm of a chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Tell dear old Dad I said hello."

"Right." He was about to turn away again when something behind her caught his eye. He looked past her at his glass display case full of antique weapons. Something wasn't quite right. There was something off about it, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It was nagging at him.

He focused back on Siren. She was still propped on the arm of the chair, picking at her nails and bouncing her leg up and down, but her wolfish gaze was locked on him. The Cheshire Cat grin on her face was too wide, like she was silently taunting him _I know something you don't know._

He frowned at her. "You gonna be okay here on your own?"

"Don't worry about me, Malcolm. I'm a big girl. I can handle myself." Her grin was ever-present, her jittering leg keeping time with a rhythm he couldn't hear.

He gave her one last once over before turning his back on her. He had a bad feeling about this, although that could have just been because he was on his way to visit the last person he wanted to see right now.

-

A loud buzz filled his ears as the guard unlocked the door. He swung it open and held it for him. Malcolm's footfalls against the tile echoed in the long hallway as he closed the distance between himself and that room. He stepped over the threshold, and the slam of the door closing shut reverberated in his head.

"My boy."

His father was waiting for him expectantly, like he always was. His hands were bound, and he stood at the very edge of the white line separating him and Malcolm. His wild, gray hair and untrimmed beard added to the crazed bordering on feral look in his eyes.

"I've missed you. It's been so long since you've come to see me."

The sound of his voice sent a chill down Malcolm's spine. "I've been busy with work." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat.

"Ah, yes." The grin on his face seemed like it was permanently etched into his features. It reminded him of Siren's. "How is working with the NYPD going, by the way? Any new cases?"

"That's actually what I came here to talk to you about."

His eyes lit up like a spark had been ignited. "You have a new case for me?"

"Well, it's not exactly new..." He scratched the back of his neck. "My team and I have been tracking this assassin down for a while. We almost got her last night, but she got away, and now we've hit a dead end."

His eyebrows shot up. "A female assassin?" Malcolm nodded, and he hummed in thought. "Interesting."

"We think she has someone working with her, a handler of sorts who acts as the middle man and her clients. Her targets are mostly wealthy, white men, but she doesn't take them out like the average hitman." He started to pace back and forth as he got more wrapped up in his rambling. "She likes to be hands on, and yet its clear that she doesn't have an emotional attachment to killing. She enjoys the act, but she's cold about it, clinical."

He stopped in his tracks when he noticed his father staring at him, amused. He furrowed his brow. "What?"

He chuckled to himself. "Nothing. You just seem... fascinated, with her."

Malcolm looked sheepishly at him. "Well, I've been after her for a while now. She's very good at evading us."

"It's the most animated I've ever seen you talk about a case, which is a shock." He gave him a knowing look. "It's like you know her personally."

He gnawed on his lower lip. "She's made contact with me."

His father quirked a brow at him. "What does that mean?"

He huffed. "She's reached out to me and dropped little hints like cryptic messages, like she wants us to catch her. But she's very good at staying hidden"

His grin grew even wider, if that was possible. "Ah, I see what's going on here."

Malcolm stopped chewing on his thumbnail and looked up at him, eyes glimmering with hope. "You do?"

"You're making the mistake in still thinking this is about her being an assassin and terminating her targets." He wagged his finger. "But this is not about that anymore, my boy. This is about you."

Malcolm's face contorted in confusion again. "What? That doesn't make sense."

"Doesn't it?" he said like it was obvious. "You may not know this, Malcolm, but serial killers tend to get bored with their work after a while. We all fall into a rut sometimes, Lord knows I have." He laughed it off like it was nothing. "So we look for something that will intrigue us, something that will invigorate us, something that will recapture our interest." He stared at Malcolm meaningfully. "For our assassin, that was you."

He pursed his lips. "Maybe so, but why me?"

He shrugged. "Who knows? But it would explain why she keeps feeding you information." He wiggled his brows like he was teasing him about some schoolyard crush. "She's leading you on. She's playing hard to get."

He sucked his teeth. Malcolm had figured Siren was playing with him, and it wasn't out of the ordinary for a serial killer to fixate on the people investigating them in his line of work. But for an assassin to jeopardize their career and put their reputation in harm's way over their pursuer? It just didn't make sense. It didn't fit the profile.

_Although, Siren stopped fitting the profile a long time ago._

He thought back to last night, dancing with Siren, talking to Endicott... "I ran into Nicholas Endicott yesterday," Malcolm tried to bring up casually.

A look he couldn't decipher flitted across his father's features. "Oh, did you now?" he nonchalantly, although Malcolm thought he could detect a note of fear in his tone. "Where was this?"

"A charity ball he was throwing."

He perked up. "Was your mother there? How is she? And how's your sister doing?"

"They're fine. She wasn't there." Malcolm wouldn't let himself get sidetracked. "He mentioned you, actually. He wanted me to tell you that he hasn't forgotten about you."

Something akin to dread settled over his father's features. It was disturbing; he had never seen him like this before. "Do you know Endicott?" Malcolm pressed him further. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

His father shook his head. "He's... an old friend. Probably just wanted to say hi. That's all, my boy." He gave him a nervous smile. It was clear from the look on his face that was all he was going to get out of him there. He had already gotten all that he wanted out of him, anyway.

Malcolm took a step back. "Well, thank you for your compliance. You've given me a lot to consider." He started to turn towards the door.

His father's face fell. "Wait." He stepped forward as far as his constraints would allow him to go, and the rope attached to the wall pulled taut. "You hardly visit me anymore. Tell me more about this assassin! I'm sure we could work out where she's hiding together."

Malcolm met his eye. He was staring at him eagerly, like he was trying to hypnotize him. He had long ago stopped being scared of his father. Instead, he was cautious around him, wary of when he was trying to draw him in further and tempt him to give in to whatever supposed darkness lurked inside of him.

But he had learned long ago how to toe the line. "I've gotten what I needed." He faced the door.

He seemed almost unhinged now, desperate. His cool facade broke, and he tugged on his restraints, frantic. "Malcolm! Don't go! Please, wait!"

The door opened, and Malcolm got out as fast as he could. The guard went inside after him to calm his father down, and the door fell closed behind him. But even muffled, Malcolm could still hear his father's shouts ring out behind him as he walked away.


	22. Cat and Mouse

Their team was in shambles.

When Malcolm got to the station, they were already there, waiting for him, and they looked a mess: Dani was perched on top of the table, holding a bag of ice to her nose; JT sat in a chair next to her with a gnarly bruise blossoming in the middle of his forehead from where Siren had smacked him; and Gil looked even more tired than usual, leaning against the wall with dark bags under his eyes as proof that he had gotten little sleep the night before.

He stopped in front of them. "Damn. You guys look rough."

Dani glared at him and lowered the ice bag from her nose. Malcolm winced. The skin of her nose was swollen and tinged red and purple. A bandage on the bridge of her nose seemed to be the only thing holding it together. It was clearly broken.

She pointed to the wreck in the middle of her face. "Look at what your girlfriend did to me." Her voice was off due to the injury.

He bristled, but tried to hide his reaction. He was starting to feel the original glimmer of a new murder start to fade as well, replaced by exasperation and the complete hopelessness that this case was coming to a close.

"I think it's no secret that the mission was a disaster," he acquiesced. "We were wholly unprepared."

"Three detectives should be able to take down one assassin, Malcolm," Gil corrected him.

"We got our asses handed to us," JT groaned. "It was embarrassing."

"And now we're back to square one. We're not even any closer than we were before." Gil threw his hands in the air in frustration.

"That's not necessarily true." He held a hand out to stop him. "The other night, I had a chance to talk to her, and–"

"You what?" Gil cut him off.

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. "I needed to talk to her," he insisted. "I needed to see what she would do next in case we didn't catch her."

"We would have caught her if you didn't keep letting her slip through your fingers!" Gil's countenance still remained rather composed, but it wasn't hard to see the rage bubbling underneath his calm demeanor. "I knew it was a bad idea to bring you, Bright, and you proved me right."

Malcolm scoffed in annoyance. "You're not really trying to pin our downfall on me, are you?" He pressed a hand to his chest.

"We would've caught her a long time ago if it wasn't for your disobedience," Gil deflected.

"My conversations with her are the only thing still keeping this case afloat!" he argued back.

Gil pushed off of the wall and stepped closer to him. "We should be trying to get two steps ahead of her! Not asking 'how high?' when she says 'jump!'"

They stood less than a foot apart from each other, staring each other straight in the eye. Dani and JT watched them with bated breath. An indiscernible amount of time passed until Malcolm stepped down, averting his eyes from Gil's intense gaze.

Gil's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, asserting his place, until he turned his back on him. "JT, send out an APB for anyone matching Siren's description. Tell them to use lethal force if necessary."

Malcolm's eyes went wide. "What?" he exclaimed, rushing towards him. "No, you can't do that!"

Gil spun around to face him. "And why not?"

He stopped in tracks just before smacking into Gil's chest. "Because she has valuable information!"

Gil remained firm, narrowing his eyes at Malcolm. "Like what?"

"Like access to her clients, not to mention her accomplice who might be communicating with other assassins like her," Malcolm pointed out.

"So what do you suggest we do instead? Catch her?" Gil crossed his arms over his chest. "That didn't go over so well the first time."

"But you can't just kill her!" he shouted a little too loudly. He sounded desperate.

"Do you even want to catch her, Bright?" Gil challenged him. "You've let her go at every opportunity."

He swallowed hard. He wasn't sure of the answer to that question himself. He thought back to his hallucination of Siren asking him the same thing, to how he offered to cover for Siren if she ran away from the banquet... At the time, he had made her think it was because he was scared what she would do to them, but he wasn't sure if that was true anymore. He was starting to think he in fact feared the opposite.

He scrambled for a quick excuse. "I'm a profiler. It's my job to get inside a killer's head, to get close to them."

Gil shook his head slowly at him. "Not this close." He looked at Malcolm with pity in his eyes. "She's dangerous, and she's clearly manipulated you into doing her will. If we get the opportunity to take her out, we can't waste it."

He reached for his radio, but Malcolm's hand shot out. He latched onto his wrist, stopping him. Gil looked at him with a mixture of anger and shock, like he was about to burst for him daring to defy him.

"I can't let you do that," Malcolm stated, his voice steady. "I can't let you kill her."

Somehow, Gil resisted the urge to kill him on the spot. "I knew she had some weird obsession with you, Bright. But I'm starting to think it's not just a one-way thing." He looked at Dani and JT. "And I'm not the only one who's starting to think that either."

Malcolm looked to Dani and JT, hoping they would stand up for him and say he's wrong. But they shrunk away from him, avoiding his gaze.

"Um, excuse me?"

They all shifted their focus to the voice coming from the doorway. A delivery person hovered there holding a vase of flowers, her eyes wide. It was obvious she had realized she had just interrupted something. "Is there a Malcolm Whitly here?"

Malcolm rescinded his grip from Gil's hand and stood up straight. He cleared his throat, smoothing out his suit jacket. "That's me." He raised his hand.

Gil let go of the radio. "Let's take a break everyone, yeah? We'll continue this discussion later." He shot Malcolm a look before squeezing past the delivery person out of the room.

Dani and JT instantly relaxed. Malcolm went over to the delivery person and thanked her before taking the flowers from her. She gave a quick nod before scurrying off, clearly not wanting anything more to do with them.

Malcolm juggled the bouquet in his arms. It was heavy and clearly very expensive, an array of carnations, lillies, and roses. _Carnations mean fascination, lillies symbolize gratefulness, and roses represent love,_ he absentmindedly noted. His mother had taught him the language of flowers while growing up.

He noticed a tag dangling from the vase. He pinched it between his fingers and turned it so he could read it:

_Thanks for the help!_

That was it. There was no indication of the sender attached to it, although Malcolm didn't need a name to know who sent it. The message alone was enough. He mentally cursed himself for not keeping the delivery person here a little longer to get an address or something he could use to find her.

"Who are those from?" Dani bounced up to him, eyebrows wiggling. "Are those from that friend you were telling me about?"

Eve. He still felt awful for the way he had left things with her. Although he hadn't known her long, he could tell she was a genuinely good person and hoped the best for her. Good people were starting to become more and more rare these days.

Suddenly, something clicked into place in his brain, like the last missing piece in a puzzle.

_"I want you to see what I can do up close and personal."_

_"This is not about that anymore. This is about you."_

Siren's and his father's words swirled in his head. The image of his display case of weapons from the other day popped into his mind. The way there was something off about it, something not quite right.

Something was missing.

"Malcolm?" Dani obviously must've noticed the change in his expression. "What's wrong?"

"It's Eve," he murmured to himself, barely audible. "She's going after Eve."

He pushed the bouquet into Dani's arms, the overwhelming, heady scent of the flowers invading his senses. "Hold these for me. I'll be back." He rushed towards the exit of the station.

"Malcolm, what's going on?" she called after him, her tone laced with concern and confusion. But she didn't chase after him.

He dug his phone out of his jacket pocket. With a few taps against the screen, it started to ring. A couple dreadfully long seconds later, the call picked up.

"Malcolm, what a surprise!" his mother trilled on the other end of the line. "I was just about to call you and ask how things went with Vivian the other day. To think, you might have two girls chasing after you!"

"Mother, where is Eve right now?" His tone was firm; he had no time for her nonsensical rambling.

"Oh, she was going to go over some girl-in-the-box related business with Vivian. They should be at her place now."

Alarm bells went off in his head. "Mother, you have to tell me Eve's address." His heart started to hammer against his ribcage.

"What? Why?" she sounded caught off guard.

The winter air hit Malcolm in a gust of wind as he stepped out of the station. He gritted his teeth together against the chill. "There's no time to explain, but she's in danger. Please give it to me now."

She shakily told him her address, and he repeated it to himself, committing it to memory. "You have to call Eve," he instructed her, standing on the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab. "Tell her she needs to get out of there as soon as possible. It's urgent."

"Malcolm, what's going on? You're scaring me."

He spotted a bright yellow cab heading his way. "Just do it," he hissed into the phone before hitting end.

The cab pulled over, and he wasted no time throwing open the door and sliding inside. He slammed the door shut behind him, and the driver looked at him expectantly.

"Where to?" he asked, twisted around in his seat with one arm slung over the headrest.

He gave him Eve's address and threw an assorted pile of bills at him. "And step on it."


	23. Killing Eve

"Thank you so much for coming on short notice," Siren gushed. "It's really urgent."

"Oh, of course." Eve led her up to her apartment. "Anything for the cause."

She unlocked the door and pushed it open. She reached inside to flip the switch, the lights flickering before they came on.

Eve held the door for Siren as she stepped inside. Eve's apartment was much smaller than Malcolm's. It was rather quaint and cozy, with a well-worn couch and shelves lining the walls crammed with books. Siren had to keep from wrinkling her nose at the sight.

"Come on in. Make yourself comfortable." Eve closed the door behind her and headed for the minuscule kitchen off of the living room. "Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee, water?"

"A glass of water is fine." She walked over to the coffee table and set down the large briefcase she was lugging. "I need to set up a few things."

"Sure." She got a glass out of her cabinet. "So, did you find something about the girl in the box?"

"I wanted to go over a few things, yes." She bent over the briefcase and undid the latches. "Have you met Jessica's son yet?"

"Malcolm?" Siren could hear the confusion seep into her tone. "Yeah, I've met him. He seems nice."

Siren hummed. " _Very_ nice. Very cute, too, if you ask me." She took something out of the briefcase.

Eve filled the glass with water from the sink, her back to her. "Oh, I don't know. I guess he's good looking."

"You guess? It's hard not to notice." She held her hand behind her back and walked around the living room, her heels clicking against the wood as she surveyed the furniture. "I've been thinking of asking him out." She looked up at Eve, feigning a sheepish expression. "Unless, of course, there's something going on between you two."

A pained look flitted across her face before it was gone. "Oh, no." She walked over to her. "Although, I must warn you. He told me was hung up on someone."

Siren was slightly taken off guard. "Really?" Her cherry-painted lips curled into the smallest, pleased smile. "That's good to hear."

Eve blinked at her uneasily. She swallowed hard and forced a polite smile on her face. "So, do you have everything you need to begin?" She held the glass of water out to her.

"Oh, yes. I do." Siren stopped in front of her and looked down at her wooden armchair, pursing her lips. "I think this'll do nicely."

Eve glanced down at the chair before looking back up at her. She furrowed her brow. "What?"

Siren revealed the syringe she had been hiding behind her back, but before Eve could even realize what it was, she jammed it in her neck.

Eve's eyes went wide, and the glass she was holding slipped from her grip. It shattered against the hardwood with a loud crash, splintering into a million pieces and splashing water all over the floor. Siren pressed down on the syringe, watching the clear liquid empty into Eve's veins. Her lips parted, but nothing but a pathetic squeak came out before her eyes rolled back into her head.

Siren pulled the syringe out with a squelch as Eve toppled over. She landed on her side in the puddle of water, knocked out cold.

Siren watched the water pool around her designer heels, frowning. "Great. You made a mess." She kicked a piece of glass with the toe of her shoe and watched it slide across the hardwood before skittering to a rest. "And by the way, I hate tap."

-

Getting Eve into the chair was a hassle.

Siren grabbed her unconscious form under the arms, lifting her dead weight into the chair with a groan. She secured rope around her wrists and squatted down to tie her ankles, wiping the sweat from her brow. She stood up, wiping off her hands, and stepped back to admire her work. She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side. Eve's head lolled limp on her neck, a string of drool dribbling out of her open mouth.

Siren grabbed a stool from the kitchen counter and dragged it over, its metal legs screeching against the floor in protest. She set it in front of Eve and sat down, crossing her legs. Now, came the worst part.

Waiting.

She rested her elbow on her thigh, picking at her nails to pass the time. This is was why she was an assassin. No heavy lifting, no runs to Home Depot for rope and duct tape, and, most important of all, _no waiting_. Just the fun part: the killing. Assassination was way more rewarding for little cost and much more glamorous.

Eve's eyelids started to flutter the same time her phone went off. Siren picked up her purse and rifled through it until she found what she was looking for. She grabbed hold of the vibrating device and turned it over. Jessica Whitly's name popped up on the screen. Siren hit decline just as Eve started to lift her head.

"Oh, good!" Siren grinned widely at her. She held up her phone. "Jessica was just starting to get worried." She threw it in the puddle of water and smashed it with her heel for good measure, cracking the screen.

Eve blinked to clear her vision. She tugged on her restraints, but when she realized that she was tied up, she started to struggle. Siren saw the exact moment she remembered what had happened just before she blacked out as her eyes flickered with recognition.

"Help!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "Someone! Please help me!"

Siren recrossed her legs and went back to picking her nails. "Screaming wastes your time, not mine," she replied coolly.

Eve ceased and narrowed her eyes at the woman in front of her. "Who are you?" she whispered. "Are you a serial killer?"

She looked up at her. "No, but I will tell you that I'm not doing this because someone told me to."

Eve tried to shrink in on herself, practically quivering. "Then why are you doing this?"

Siren stood up. "Because you took something that rightfully belonged to me."

Eve went still when it dawned on her. "This is about Malcolm?" she asked, although from the tone of her voice she already knew the answer. "I don't want him! You can have him!"

Siren let out a long, drawn out sigh. "You don't understand. But I didn't expect you to." She walked behind Eve, out of her sight. "It's not about you giving him to me. It’s not even about you not wanting him anymore.”

She stopped at the open briefcase on the coffee table. “It's about you even thinking you could touch him in the first place when he's _mine_.”

Eve tried to crane her neck to see behind her. "What are you going to do to me?"

“Isn't it obvious?" She reached inside the briefcase and picked up the axe. "I'm going to kill you."

She walked back in front of Eve, each click of her heel against the wood like the tick of a bomb about to go off. When Eve saw the axe in her grip, she started to wriggle against her binds.

"No!" she shrieked, squeezing her eyes shut and writhing. "Please, don't kill me! I'll do anything!"

Siren rolled her eyes. "Please, try not to be so predictable, Eve, and make this a little interesting for me.” She sighed melodramatically, like she was the one being tortured. “This is why I prefer to strike before they even know what's hit them. No whining, no bargaining, no begging for your life.”

She twirled the axe in her grip, admiring the light as it glinted off the sharp edge of the blade. "Its got a good weight to it."

Eve started to cry, tears streaming down her blotchy, red cheeks. Siren stopped messing with the blade and stared at her. "Waterworks, really? That's really how you want to look when you die?"

Eve continued to sob, a snot bubble forming at her nose. Siren grimaced. "Alright, that's just disgusting. Let's get this over with."

Siren took a step back, bumping into the stool, and gave the axe a few practice swings. "I only get one shot, so I got to make it count."

She held the axe in one hand and bent over Eve, resting the other on her shoulder. She leaned down until they were almost eye to eye.

"I do want you to know that this isn't my usual thing. I don't normally like to get my hands dirty. I think over relying on too much gore to make a murder memorable is the sign of a weak killer. But I want them to be horrified with what I do to you." Her lips split into an off-putting grin. "So you should consider yourself lucky I'm making an exception for you."

Eve stared up at her, her watery eyes rimmed with red. A lightbulb clicked on over Siren's head. "Oh! I almost forgot the finishing touch!"

She grabbed Eve's jaw to hold her head still. Then, she pressed a searing kiss to her cheek and pulled away, marveling at the bright red lipstick stain in the shape of her lips.

She grinned. "There. Perfect."

She stepped back, gripping the axe in both hands. "Alright, here goes nothing." She reared back. "See you on the other side."

And with that, she swung the axe.


	24. Off With her Head

The door to Eve's apartment was unlocked when Malcolm got there.

His chest heaved up and down from running up five flights of stairs. His heart was beating so hard he thought it was going to burst through his ribcage. He threw open the door and barged inside. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the sight that had been waiting for him, and it was like all the adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins suddenly evaporated.

He had seen countless murders before, and gruesome ones at that: decapitations, beheadings, drownings, stabbings, hangings, dismemberments. And he hadn't batted an eye. But something about this, about how close to him it was, was different. It made his heart sink to his stomach. It was like the floor had dropped out from under him.

He fell to his knees, staring at Eve's impossibly still body. His hand shook as he reached for his phone in his pocket. It took him too long to press the numbers in the right order; he couldn't keep the tremble out of his fingers long enough. He managed to hit the call button and held the phone to his ear.

The dial tone sent him into a cold sweat. It rang three times before the call picked up. "Bright? Where did you go?"

"Gil." His voice didn't sound like his own. It was weak and small, fragile to the point of almost breaking. "It's Eve. She's dead, she..."

"Wait, hold up." He could hear rustling in the background as Gil was sent into panic mode. "Where are you right now?"

He stuttered out her address in gasping breaths. "It's too late... I was too late..."

"Stay right there. We're on our way, alright?" Malcolm could hear the urgency in his tone.

"You don't understand." His face felt wet. "Her head... It's gone."

Time seemed to stretch on forever as he waited for them to arrive. He lost track of time, staring at Eve's headless body. Her skin was practically see-through, a translucent sheet for the blue and purple veins no longer flowing with blood underneath. Her wrists and ankles were still bound to the chair her body was propped up in like a mannequin, the rope digging into her skin and leaving red marks. He could see his reflection in the thick pool of blood at her feet. There was so much blood, such a deep red that it was black like ink.

There was an empty spot where her smiling face should've been.

He heard their feet thump against the stairs before he saw them. They marched through the open door like they were prepared for battle, their hands resting on the guns tucked in their holsters just in case. When they came across Malcolm glued to the spot in front of Eve's dead body, they stopped dead in their tracks.

"Holy shit," JT murmured.

"Bright, what happened?" Dani kneeled down next to him, folding her arm over his shoulders.

He shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know. I just found her like this. I was too late..." he babbled.

Gil stopped at his side. "Do you know her?" He stared down at Malcolm questioningly.

He nodded. "She worked with my mother. Her name is," he paused, swallowing hard, and corrected himself, " _was_ Eve. You should find half a heart tattoo on the inside of her left wrist."

JT hesitantly stepped forward. He took a switch knife out of his pocket and cut the rope tied to Eve's left hand. He carefully turned her arm over. Malcolm couldn't see it, but the look exchanged between JT and Gil confirmed what he already knew.

Gil nodded to him. "Call it in." He turned to Dani. "Get Bright something to drink."

Dani helped Malcolm over to the stools by the kitchen counter. She got him a bottle of water and sat with him, watching patiently as he took small sips. He pulled the blanket she had draped around his shoulders closer to him.

The backup JT had called for came, and soon, Eve's apartment was teeming with officers snapping pictures, collecting evidence, and taping off the area with yellow crime scene tape. Edrisa showed up, taking notes on a pad of paper and being careful not to step in the puddle of blood. She must've known from the look on Malcolm's face that now was not the time to make idle chat.

Gil came over to them, his hands on his hips. He faced Dani. "How is he feeling?"

"You could ask me yourself, you know." Malcolm shifted his gaze to the serious look on Gil's face. "I'm right here."

He pressed his lips into a straight, taut line. "How are you holding up, Bright? We could use your expertise on this case, that is if you don't mind."

Dani was quick to rest a hand on his knee. "You don't have to," she reminded him, her coffee brown eyes boring into his.

"I know." _But the least I could do is help._ He hopped off of the stool, trying to regain what was left of his composure. "What do you need to know?"

"Do you think this could be," Gil raised his brows, "her?"

Malcolm sucked in a breath. Even just the mere mention of her stoked a fire deep within him. "Yes," he answered simply.

Dani stood up and joined him at his side. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because she stole my axe." He jutted his chin out at the axe lying abandoned next to Eve's corpse.

All of their eyes went wide. "That's yours?" JT asked.

He walked closer, stepping over the tape separating him from the scene. "It's ninth century. Norse craftsmanship." He stared down at the bloodstained axe, puzzled. "I got here before she could dispose of it." _So close, but not close enough._

Dani folded her arms over her chest. "She knew you were coming?"

"She probably had some idea." He looked at her severed neck. "The uneven cut..." He swallowed hard and tore his gaze away from her, focusing on them instead. He couldn't stare at her too long without his stomach churning. "It lacks precision. Something about it feels a little too hurried and rushed, like she was running out of time."

"Do you think there's any chance she could've been carrying out a hit?" Gil asked.

He immediately shook his head. "Eve doesn't fit in with the usual type of hits she carries out. Her clients usually order her to take out white men who are wealthy or in positions of power." He clenched his jaw. "She was acting alone on this one."

Dani furrowed her brow. "Why would she do that?"

He paced around the edge of the pool of blood, being careful not to get any on his shoes. His mother would throw a fit. “This method of killing is bloody, unrestrained. It doesn't fit with Siren's usual MO."

"So she's versatile," JT remarked, his tone sour. "Great."

Malcolm shot him a look. "The point is, she was trying to catch my attention. To send me a message."

Dani quirked a brow. "Which is?"

Malcolm stopped in his tracks and faced them. His face fell, and he lowered his gaze to his shoes. "Not to get too close."

Dani's eyes lit up with recognition, and her lips twisted into a frown. Gil stepped forward, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Malcolm, for your input. It's greatly appreciated." He guided him away from the body. "I think it goes without saying that you're off this case."

Malcolm backed away from him, shrugging his hand off. "What?" he snapped, enraged. "Do you really think I could still be on her side after all this?"

Gil squared his shoulders to face him. "Regardless, this just became way too personal of a case for you to handle. We need people who aren't so deeply entrenched investigating this."

"But I need to find her!" He got in his face, his eyes wild. "I need to–"

Gil grabbed him by his shoulders, cutting him off. "We will find her," he assured him, his voice steady and firm. Then, his eyes softened with pity. "I'm sorry, Malcolm."

Malcolm's shoulders sagged in defeat, shrinking in on himself. Gil rescinded him from his grip and stood up straight. "Dani will take you home." He turned to go reconvene with the officers and share what he learned, giving Malcolm one last glance. "Make sure you get some rest."

Malcolm watched him go hopelessly. He felt Dani's presence at his side, and she tugged on his arm. "Come on. Let's go."

He relied on her grip on his sleeve to lead him out of the apartment complex. He felt like he was on auto pilot and just going through the motions. He absentmindedly ducked into her car, slouching in the passenger seat. He didn't bother putting on his seatbelt as she pulled onto the road. A heavy silence fell over them. Malcolm could sense Dani glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"You can't let this hang over you," she said, her voice slicing through the tension like a knife. "It's not your fault."

Malcolm felt his eyes well with tears. "I didn't know that she would do something like that." His voice teetered on the edge of breaking. "I should've known. I should've stopped her, or I should’ve told someone, or I..." he trailed off, scared that he would burst if he continued.

Dani gripped the steering wheel with both hands. "You can't spend forever thinking about what you could've done different. You had no idea what she was capable of." Her thumbs tapped against the wheel as the car stopped at a red light. "You can't blame yourself. There was nothing you could do."

She was probably right, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence. Dani parked at the curb in front of Malcolm's building. She followed him to his door, her hand on the small of his back the only thing keeping him up right. He turned his key in the lock, the door clicking open. He spun around to face her.

She smiled at him. "Get some sleep."

His face went pale. He knew there was no possibility he would get a wink of sleep tonight, and even if he did somehow manage to get some shut eye, he wouldn't sleep soundly. The thought of what demons were lurking and waiting for him in his nightmares terrified him.

He tried to smile back at her, but it came off more like a grimace. "Thanks for taking me home."

"No problem." He watched her retreat down the steps before pushing open the door to his apartment.

He trudged inside. He was relieved to find that no Sirens, imaginary or real, were waiting for him, eager to taunt him. He stripped off his suit jacket and kicked off his shoes, discarding them in the middle of the floor. He made his way to the kitchen, staring down at the hardwood.

He halted just outside the boundary to the kitchen. On the floor, so tiny that he almost just missed it, was a drop of blood. His brows drew together as he noticed another one and another after that, creating some sort of path into the kitchen. He followed the trail slowly and found that it stopped at the door to his fridge.

He lifted his head to see a bloody handprint wrapped around the handle to the freezer. He slowly reached out and grabbed the handle, the blood sticking to his palm. He swore it felt warm, like whoever had left it had just been there.

He hesitated, staring at his warped reflection in the metal exterior of the fridge. Then, in a split second decision, he yanked open the door to the freezer.

He stared inside, and a pair of eyes stared back.

Eve's dull eyes were wide open and glazed over, her chapped lips parted in a scream that never came. Blood dripped from her severed neck and collected in a puddle at the bottom of the freezer. It was the same color as the lipstick print etched into her cheek like a scar.

He stumbled back, gasping for air that didn't seem to fill his lungs. He bumped into the island and caught himself on the edge of the counter. He fumbled for his phone and dropped it in the process, bending over to pick it up without taking his eyes off of the decapitated head in his freezer. He typed the number he had ingrained into his brain at this point without looking at the screen.

"Bright, what is it?" Gil sighed into the speaker on the other end of the line. "If this is about me letting you back on the case–"

"I found it," he cut him off, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears.

"Found what?" He could hear the confusion in his tone.

He didn't take his eyes off of her for a moment, afraid he might miss her blink otherwise.

"Her head."


	25. What's Done is Done

It rained on the day of Eve's funeral.

It was a small gathering, just her close family and a couple of friends. Malcolm went with his mother and Ainsley, and together they stood inside the church and listened to Eve's adoptive parents give eulogies. They put on a brave face. Sometimes, they would pause for just a little too long to regain their composure, or the slight tremor in their voices or the shine in their eyes would give them away. But besides that, they weren't hysteric. They were mostly just morose and sorrowful.

Malcolm's eyes were glued to the casket, the voices of her parents an incessant buzzing in his ears like TV static in the background. He could see his reflection in the shiny, black lid, the bags under his eyes dangerously prominent and his skin sickly pale. They had to have a closed casket. Siren had done too much irreversible damage to make Eve's body look presentable for an audience.

A shudder rolled down Malcolm's spine, like someone had poured ice down the back of his suit jacket. He could still see Eve's vacant, empty eyes staring back at him from inside his freezer. They were the new main attraction in his night terrors, even eclipsing Siren's silver eyes. They haunted him the second he closed his eyes to sleep.

He could only imagine what Siren would have done if he had gotten there later, the gruesome mess she would have felt compelled to make. He stopped his train of thought there before it could continue any further.

They walked out onto the cemetery in a parade of black umbrellas. There was a freshly dug grave six feet deep in front of a tombstone with Eve's name engraved on it. They all gathered around it and watched as the casket was lowered into the grave. Eve's mother dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, and her father rubbed her back.

"I don't understand." Malcolm looked up to meet his mother's eyes. She was staring straight at him. "Why didn't you tell us?"

The rain pelted the umbrella Malcolm held above all of their heads, barely shielding them all from being soaked. It was the kind of rain in winter where it wasn't quite cold enough to be snow or hail yet, but was still freezing. He couldn’t help but remember the last day it had rained, when he had walked Siren down the front steps of his home and she had smiled wide at him, her teeth sharp like daggers.

"I didn't think she would do this," he muttered, mainly to himself. "It doesn't fit the profile..."

"She's killed people, Malcolm," his mother hissed, her lips barely moving.

Ainsley placed a warning hand on her elbow, quietly urging her to stop. "Mom, don't. What's done is done. There's no point in making him feel even more guilty about it."

She was right. He could do that all by himself.

Someone near the back of the group a couple paces behind everyone else caught his eye. His head shot up, and his eyes scanned over her form. She was dressed in a tight, black dress that hugged the curves of her figure and tall heels that sunk into the damp earth beneath her. Her gloved hand held an umbrella low over her head to obscure her face.

His breath caught in his throat. It was her; it had to be.

In a split second decision, he dropped his umbrella to the ground. His mother and Ainsley whipped their heads around to gawk at him, flinching as the rain hit them like bullets. "Malcolm, what are you doing?" his mother asked, venom in her tone.

He didn't answer. He was already launching himself through the crowd, pushing past people and shoving them out of his way. He ignored the bizarre looks they shot him as he made a beeline towards the woman. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and his vision went red. She must have come here to gloat, to bathe in the glory of another successful murder. He couldn't understand how he had once been so fascinated with her.

He grabbed the woman's shoulder and whirled her around. She lowered her umbrella, and he took in her face for the first time. It was all wrong; the features were off. The cheekbones weren't as high, her nose was a little crooked, and he was met with dark, muddy brown eyes rather than silver ones.

It wasn't her.

The random woman reacted in fear to the blatant anger on his face and backed away from him. He rescinded his grip on her shoulder, and his face softened. "I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else. I..." he scrambled for an excuse, for something else to say, but came up empty.

He looked behind her at the crowd to find all of their eyes on him, even Eve's parents'. His mother and Ainsley were huddled together, his mother's arm looped through hers. They seemed to register the embarrassment that he couldn't feel on their faces. They all stared at him like he had lost his mind.

Maybe he had, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

He hung his head and trudged away from them. He could feel their eyes burning into his back the whole way across the cemetery. Behind him, Eve's parents threw roses into the grave, and dirt started to be scooped into the hole until the ground was level.

The rain stopped soon after. The sky was an overcast, dingy gray, the sun hidden behind the clouds and no where to be seen. Small pools of rain water formed on the grass and mixed with the dirt to create puddles of mud. Trees cast shadows on the ground, their spindly branches reaching across the sidewalk like outstretched hands.

Malcolm leaned back against his mother's town car, his arms folded and his ankles crossed. He was still soaked through from the rain, his hair plastered against his forehead. He stared up at the sky until his eyes hurt. The color was so distinct, like a pair of eyes he was all too familiar with.

"Malcolm."

Malcolm snapped his head to see Dani approaching him. Unlike him, she was completely dry. She must’ve just missed the downpour. She looked almost timid, with her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket and her hair covering her face. She looked like she was trying hard not to be seen.

He pushed off of the car and stood up straight. "Dani." He awkwardly fidgeted with his fingers. "What are you doing here? Are you here for Eve's funeral?"

She stopped beside him and looked sheepishly at him. "Actually, I'm here to give you something."

She took her hands out of her pockets and grasped a small slip of paper between her fingers. She held it out to him. He furrowed his brow and took it from her. He unfolded it and stared down at it. It was a sequence of ten numbers scrawled down on the paper. It looked like a phone number.

He looked up at her, a crease still formed in between his brows. "What's this?"

She pursed her lips. "Edward Prescott gave it to us to lessen his sentence. He said it's the number he used to contact Siren's handler."

His fingers tightened on the paper, unintentionally creasing it. He was afraid that it would slip through his fingers at any minute if the breeze picked up even in the slightest, and his last clue as to Siren's whereabouts would be gone.

"I'm not sure if it works any more. We were too scared to contact it in the case that she would tip Siren off and she would get away," Dani continued, raising her hands in the air as if in defense. "It might lead to a burner phone, for all I know."

"I don't understand." Malcolm drew his brows together. "I'm not on the case anymore. Why are you giving me this?"

She softly smiled at him. "Because, Malcolm, I know this means a lot to you, and I know you want to be the one to find her."

Malcolm played with the slip of paper. He returned her smile, although he wasn't sure if it came off as more of a grimace or not. He folded the paper and tucked it in the pocket of his coat. "Thank you, Dani. I really appreciate it."

She pointed at him, giving him a stern look. "If you mean it, then you won't tell Gil I gave that to you." She arched a brow expectantly at him

He mimed zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key. "You have my word."

She forced an airy laugh. “Let’s hope it means something.”

Her smile slowly faded as her eyes locked onto something behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see his mother and Ainsley coming their way. Ainsley held Malcolm’s discarded umbrella closed at her side, shaking the remaining water droplets from it.

"I have to go." Dani shoved her hands in her pockets again and started to shrink away from him, her warm brown eyes shifting side to side. "I'll see you around."

He watched her retreating figure down the sidewalk when his mother called his name. "Malcolm,” she narrowed her eyes, “who was that?” He shrugged. “No one. Just ran into a friend.” He wished he was better at lying to them. He was sure his deceit was written all over his face. If his mom noticed, she didn’t say anything, although her eyes were still slits. “Right. A friend.” Ainsley held the car door open for her, and she stepped one foot inside. Then, she looked at him over her shoulder. “Well, Malcolm, what are you waiting for? We’re leaving.” 

He stepped away from the car. "There's something I have to take care of. I'll catch a cab home."

Her thin brows drew together, and her lips pressed into a straight line. "What's going on with you, Malcolm? You've been jumpier than usual recently, if that's even possible."

He ignored the jab and offered her a small wave in consolation, already walking away. "Goodbye, Mother! I'll call you later!"

His mother shook her head disapprovingly before ducking into the backseat, Ainsley climbing in after her. She pulled the door closed behind her with a click, and the town car pulled onto the road as he dug the piece of paper out of his pocket again. He read the numbers over and over again, committing them to memory until they were etched into his mind. He pulled out his phone and typed them in, hitting the call button before holding it to his ear.

The ring reverberated in his ears as he waited for someone to pick up. He paced back and forth, practically wearing a path into the dirt beneath his shoes. He lifted his free hand to his mouth, biting his nails down to the quick. He squeezed his eyes shut and silently prayed that he wouldn't hear the monotone voice of the robotic operator tell him the number couldn't be reached.

It continued to ring for an obscenely long time, and then there was a click as the line picked up. Malcolm's eyes shot open, and he froze. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He was speechless, stuck waiting for a voice on the other end to fill the silence for him. He hadn't even thought of anything to say, he had been so focused on anyone picking up the phone at all.

And then, he heard it.

"Hello?"


End file.
